De Oppresso Liber
by li'lmissnitpick
Summary: Why does Danny Messer wear those dog tags?  A gruesome double murder in Central Park is more than just another case.  To Danny, it is a reminder of his past, and he'll need Lindsay to get him through it.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: New York or any of the characters in it. I'm simply having fun with them for a while. [finding no way in which to reinvent the standard entreaty not to sue, the disheartened author settles for a bracketed statement: fill in your own.**

**Chapter 1**

It was the chirpy ring of his cell phone that woke him.

Danny Messer had already fumbled around for his glasses, shoved them on his face, and picked up his phone before his brain even registered what it was doing. He was, admittedly, not a morning person.

He swore half-heartedly when he saw Mac's Number on the display and answered, "Messer."

Mac, as usual, got straight to the point. "Two DBs in the park. I need you to meet Lindsay there as soon as you can."

Danny sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You got it," replied Danny, glad at least it was the pretty Montanan that he was meeting at such an early hour. Thank God for small favours.

Mac quickly relayed the specifics, ending with a quick but sincere apology for dragging the young CSI out of bed.

"No worries, Mac," said Danny. "That's whatcha get for bein' on call. No rest for the weary, right?" His Staten Island accent was even thicker than usual in the morning.

"Something like that," replied Mac. "I'll finish up here and meet you over at the park as soon as I can. You might get some rest yet."

"Kay, thanks, Mac. See ya there." Danny snapped his phone shut and tossed it back on the nightstand, heading for the shower. He was dressed and ready to go in under twenty minutes, grabbing his phone, his badge, and his gun on the way out.

He made it to Central Park in record time. The early hour combined with his knowledge of the city allowed him to navigate the streets without mishap.

"Hey, Montana," he greeted, as soon as he got to the scene.

"Hi, Danny. What are you doing here?" she asked. "I thought you were off tonight."

"Don't remind me," he griped, before continuing. "Nah, I'm on call, remember? And apparently, it's a busy night. Mac and Stel are workin' the Plaza scene, and Hawkes just got a call about some assault over on West 73rd. I guess Mac figured I wouldn't mind lendin' a hand," he said with a grin. "What do we got?"

"Double homicide, one male, one female. No witnesses, no IDs on the vics. Just a weapon found a few feet away from the bodies, and one hell of a mess. Judging by the state of the bodies compared to the lack of flesh dotting the landscape, I'd say the bodies were dumped here."

Danny looked around. "You've got that right. So, where d'ya want me?"

Lindsay rolled her eyes at his innuendo, but grinned. "Try me again later," she said with a wink. "But since you asked…Congratulations. You get to bag and tag. Start processing, cowboy. I'll photograph the scene."

Danny smiled appreciatively. "What I don't do for my Montana," he shouted after her.

She sent a sultry look and a wave from over her shoulder.

"You're gonna be the death of me, Montana," he groaned.

All jokes aside, a quick glance around him told Danny why she was so eager to pass off that particular job. The bodies were a mess. He gloved up with a snap and began processing the area around the bodies. "Jesus, what did these people do to deserve this?" he muttered.

He began collecting samples, efficiently placing them in evidence bags to be examined at the lab. He started around the body of the first victim, a female, and quickly looked away. It would be better if he didn't look at the bodies. He had seen many things, during his time as a CSI and before, but he still avoided the more gruesome sights his job had to offer whenever he could.

The steady snap and flash of Lindsay's camera kept him focused on the task at hand, reminding him also of the need to remain calm and detached. He barely registered the arrival of the ME, and kept working even as they began hauling the first victim away. When they began were moving the body of the second victim—the male—he had just started performing his final sweep of the area.

Lindsay was just finishing her job when something caught Danny's eye.

He quickly reached for his kit, drawing out a pair of tweezers and another evidence bag. He approached the body of the male victim, now covered with the body bag the people from the ME's office were about to put the corpse in. Waving them away, he squatted, and, with Lindsay looking on, pulled a small piece of metal, barbed at one end, from beneath the man's hand.

"What is that?" Lindsay asked, mystified.

"Shit," breathed Danny, the muscles in his face taut. "Looks like a flechette."

"A what?" asked Lindsay. "Never heard of it."

Danny smirked. "Well whaddaya know, something Monroe _doesn't_ know." He neatly avoided Lindsay's mock-infuriated swat. "They're these finned nails—ya usually find 'em in grenades actin' as shrapnel. I haven't seen one of these since—" He broke off, looking around, the grin disappearing from his face.

Lindsay drew closer, worried at his erratic behaviour. She was about to say something when he spoke.

"The weapon. There was a weapon; it was gone before I got here. Where'd it go?" His tone of voice was urgent, his eyes almost wild.

Lindsay responded slowly "The officer who responded was worried about it being taken, so I put it in an evidence bag and locked it in the truck."

Danny took off toward the vehicle, and Lindsay followed, unlocking the door so that he could have a look. He picked up the weapon, almost as if he were in a trance.

"Danny, what is it?" asked Lindsay. And when he didn't respond, "Danny, you're scaring me."

He blinked and shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. "Where's the other piece?" he asked abruptly.

"What?" asked Lindsay. "This was it, this was all that was there. We didn't find another weapon—"

"There isn't another weapon," Danny interrupted. "There's another piece. It attaches here," He pointed to a worn notch in the weapon's paint. "This weapon is military issue. If ya fit it with an M-203 grenade launcher, ya can lob grenades up to four hundred yards without breakin' a sweat."

He turned to survey the two victims loaded into the ME's van, becoming more and more distressed. "Ya load the weapon with beehive-shaped rounds filled with these flechettes. The victims were hit by a cloud of nails travellin' at five hundred feet per second. They didn't even know what hit 'em."

Lindsay let out a low whistle. "Well, I guess that takes care of the how, but the why remains a mystery."

"Isn't that always the case…" said Danny with a sigh. He caught a glimpse of the ME's van preparing to leave the scene.

Danny sprinted over, hailing the driver. "Hey! Stop a minute, would ya?" He waited impatiently for the back door of the van to be opened and jumped in the back. "The second vic," he said urgently, "The man, which one?" He pointed to the two bodies.

Barely waiting for a response, he dragged down the zipper of the black body bag. He stared at the face for a moment, closed his eyes and swallowed.

He jumped out of the van, and walked away, gesturing vaguely for the van to take off. He put one hand to his forehead, and used the other to steady himself as he leaned against a nearby tree.

Lindsay approached him, worried. She placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Danny? Are you okay?" She became even more alarmed when he didn't answer. "Danny, talk to me, please."

"I gotta talk to Mac," he said, staring straight ahead.

**A/N: I'm posting the first chapter of this story in order to gauge whether or not it is worth my while to continue. In case you're wondering, I do have the first few chapters completed and a few more planned out, so if I do decide to keep going, I'll try to post regularly. If I get enough positive feedback/constructive criticism, I'll stick with it. As much as I hate whoring myself out to reviewers, I've got to do it. Please, kind reader, a review, if you please. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own CSI: New York or any of the characters in it. I'm simply having fun with them for a while. [finding no way in which to reinvent the standard entreaty not to sue, the disheartened author settles for a bracketed statement: fill in your own.**

**Chapter 2**

"Danny? Are you okay?" asked Lindsay. "Danny, talk to me, please."

"I gotta talk to Mac," replied Danny.

"About what?" It was Mac's voice. The older man had approached the two, having just arrived at the scene moments earlier to see Danny terrify the ME van's driver. "What's going on?" he asked quietly. Mac, never one for showing much emotion, was visibly concerned.

Danny once again dragged his hand across his neck, as he often did when he was nervous or upset. His voice, harsh as if from holding back some strong emotion, startled Lindsay. "Two victims, no IDs, found with the flechettes from a HD/EP projectile—probably a forty-mike-mike—embedded in their bodies. M4 carbine was found a few yards away. Launcher's still missing. Needless to say this isn't the primary crime scene."

Lindsay, unfamiliar with this terminology, looked to Mac, who appeared worried.

"Look, I can't have you shutting down because this stuff brings back memories—" began Mac, sympathetic but firm.

"I can't work this case Mac," said Danny tightly.

Lindsay broke in. "Why not? Danny—"

Danny cut in. "Vic number two's name is Jim Manelli. I knew him, from back in North Carolina."

Lindsay was bewildered. "What are you guys talking about? North Carolina?" she asked, mildly hurt that Danny had kept such an obviously important portion of his life from her.

"You know we'll have to talk about this," said Mac, paying no attention to Lindsay, who watched the interaction between the two men with interest and confusion.

"Yeah," said Danny. "Not here."

Mac glanced fleetingly at Lindsay. "You sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Okay." He paused before turning to Lindsay. "We'll see. It's been years, Danny. If we get someone to corroborate the ID, we'll talk. I'll still need you to work Vic #1. I don't have enough people to let you sit this one out. In the mean time, go home. Lindsay and I will handle the preliminaries. Come back in when you've got yourself together." His eyes softened. "Go home, get some rest," he reiterated. "Come back when you're ready. If we get another call, I'll let you know. We'll talk later."

Danny just nodded, in a daze.

"I mean it," said Mac. He watched, apprehensively as Danny walked away. He turned to Lindsay. "Go with him. He shouldn't be alone right now."

Lindsay started to follow when Mac stopped her. "Lindsay, just…be there for him. This case is bringing back some memories that he'd rather forget. He's going to need someone to help him through it." He glanced meaningfully at Danny's retreating back. "I have a feeling that you're that person."

Lindsay blushed. "Mac, I—"

"What you two have…It's a good thing." At Lindsay's shocked expression, he smiled slightly. "Lindsay, you work with a team of New York's best CSIs. Someone was bound to notice." He looked sheepish. "I'd be a hypocrite if I told you not to get involved with each other, I just want to make sure that whatever happens between the two of you doesn't affect the team."

"Of course," said Lindsay.

Mac paused before speaking again. "He _will_ talk to you. Just give him some time. Now go," He smiled. "Don't leave him waiting."

She didn't need to be told twice. "Thanks, Mac," she said, "For understanding." She jogged over to Danny, where he was just about to get into his vehicle. She touched him on the shoulder. "Hey, hey," she said. "I'll drive you."

Danny didn't argue. He just nodded and walked toward her department-issue SUV. He got in the passenger side and buckled up, closing the door and leaning his head against the window.

Lindsay paused for a moment before starting the car, carefully studying his face. The blank look in his eyes scared her, and she drove for a few minutes before she dared to speak.

"If you want to talk about it—" she began.

"I can't," said Danny, more harshly than he intended.

"Oh, well…"

"Look, Linds…I'm sorry," Danny said, immediately regretting snapping at her. "It's just the body, it shook me up is all."

Lindsay kept her eyes straight ahead. "No, it's okay. It's not my business." Her voice was angry, but not at him. She was mad at herself for not being the kind of person he wanted to confide in.

"We've been datin' for six months, Montana. My business _is_ your business," he said, with the ghost of a smile. Lindsay relaxed a bit. _This_ was the Danny Messer she knew.

There was silence in the car for a few moments, while Lindsay decided how much to ask and Danny decided how much to tell. Both of them wondered how the other would react to what they had to say.

Lindsay spoke first. "So…North Carolina, huh?" Her voice was calm, nonchalant, but Danny knew her too well. She was interested.

"Yep," he replied.

Lindsay risked a glance. "And here I bought into that story of the guy who'd never left New York his entire life," she said with a laugh, striving for levity.

"Hey, I came to Montana for ya, didn't I?" asked Danny, pretending to be offended. He sighed. "Nah, I've been lots of places, seen a lot of things. Trouble is, most of the time, I just wanna forget 'em."

"The places or the things?" asked Lindsay, only half-serious.

"Both," answered Danny softly.

Lindsay looked at him uneasily. She didn't know what to say to that, and Danny didn't seem to want to elaborate. If there was anything she'd learned since beginning their relationship, it was not to push. He didn't push her to disclose every detail of her past, although he already knew most of the more difficult parts of it. She didn't push him to talk about his. Part of her knew that eventually, they would have to confide in each other if they had any hope of making their relationship last, but part of her was still afraid that once Danny found out all of her dirty little secrets, he would never look at her the same way again. It was a very small part of her that worried, and intellectually she knew that Danny was there for her no matter what happened to her fifteen years ago, but emotions weren't logical, and it was something she had to deal with.

It bothered her a little, that Danny's past was still such a mystery to her. Sure, she knew the basics—about his "connected" father, his Staten Island upbringing, his lost dreams of a baseball career, his "playboy" image—but it was as if all of the important stuff was glossed over in favour of a two-dimensional stereotype. She didn't know how well he got along with his family, why he became a CSI, what he did with his life before he joined Mac's team, but she felt guilty about asking him when she volunteered so little about her own life.

She pulled up to his apartment building and parked the car.

"You wanna come up?" he asked, knowing she probably wouldn't anyway.

"I can't," she said, genuinely regretful. "I have to get back to the lab. Mac's expecting me."

"Okay," said Danny, his face blank once again. He turned and unbuckled his seatbelt, reaching for the door.

"Danny," said Lindsay, reaching for his arm. "You'll call," she asked, "If you want to talk?"

"Yeah," said Danny tiredly. "I'll call."

Lindsay caressed a gentle hand over his face and gave him a kiss full of comfort and tenderness. "I'm off at three. See you then."

"See ya then," Danny echoed, and he got out of the car. He made his way slowly to the door to his apartment.

Lindsay waited until he let himself in. She started the SUV back up and pulled out of the lot. As she drove back to the crime lab, she couldn't help but wish that there was something more she could do.

**A/N: I am so incredibly humbled by the positive feedback left regarding the first chapter. You guys rock my socks! Thanks so much.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Back at his apartment, the first thing Danny did was get a beer from the fridge.

He sat on the couch, staring at the blank television screen, hoping that this case wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass. His past had an uncanny way of being messy, and of rearing its ugly head when he least expected it. Of course, now that things were going well with Montana, he should probably have known that this was coming.

If a Messer was happy, it just meant he didn't have the whole story.

He sighed and popped the bottle cap off of his beer, tossing it on the table and watching as it spun around in dizzying circles before finally coming to rest on the wooden surface. It seemed that fate was intent on getting all the skeletons out of his closet and on public display. It was bad enough that his family's "connectedness" had been bandied about the lab since he's joined the team five years ago. And after the whole Tanglewood mess, well, he figured that if he was to be able to maintain at least some semblance of dignity at his place of work, he'd have to keep this one last secret from getting out. And it was a doozy.

So much for wishful thinking.

He finished his beer and contemplated having another, but he knew that getting drunk right now wasn't the best idea. He would need to be sober for the phone call he was about to make.

He reached for his phone, and dialled the number by rote. He waited as it rang precisely three times before being answered. Some things never change

"Yeah, this is Danny Messer callin' for Colonel Ames."

The bored voice of the woman answering the phone replied, "He's not taking any phone calls."

"He'll talk to me," said Danny. "Mention my name and tell him it's about Broadway Jimmy."

There was silence for a few moments as the woman went to speak to her superior. After a few minutes, Danny started getting restless. How long did it take to for the woman to walk over to the man's door and tell him he had a phone call? Hell, she didn't even have to move, all she had to do was call the guy.

When she came back on the line, Danny had to work hard keep the frustration out of his voice. "Yeah, I'll hold."

Finally, a familiar voice with a distinct Southern twang could be heard coming through the phone. "Messer. Just what do you know about Broadway Jimmy?" the voice demanded.

Good ol' Colonel Ames. Danny almost smiled. The man never was one for small talk. Danny got right to the point. "Well sir, I know he was in New York."

"How the hell do you know that?" asked the colonel, instantly suspicious.

Danny didn't pull any punches. "Because his body was found in Central Park this mornin', along with that of a young woman."

There was a pause.

"Shit."

"Sir, ya gotta tell me what Broadway Jimmy was doin' in New York."

"You know that kind of stuff is need-to-know," said Colonel Ames.

"I need to know." Danny refused to back down. He had anticipated the run around, anyway—he knew enough to wait it out. Eventually, he'd get what he wanted.

"I don't think you do." Damned Colonel Ames. Always was a mistrustful son of a bitch.

"What do ya think is gonna happen?" asked Danny, exasperated. "Worst case you tell me state secrets I already know."

"There are protocols—"

"Bullshit." Danny was getting angry. "Since when did we ever follow protocol? Your operator's dead and you've got to disavow. I get it. We all knew that signin' up. But the young woman that was found with him didn't sign up. And she's dead anyway. De oppresso liber. Free the oppressed. Seems to me we're doing to oppressin'." He ended in disgust, hoping at least the callous older man would feel something—anything—for a fallen comrade.

"Quit your goddamn moralizing," Ames said, before muttering, "Dog Latin shit…" He continued in his usual booming voice. I've got enough crap to wade through as it is without worrying about your conscience."

"What about _your_ conscience?" asked Danny "Don't ya want to know who murdered your operator?"

"Listen, I know you and Jimmy were close—"

"That's got nothing to do with it," interrupted Danny. "I'm a CSI. It's my job to catch murderers and make them pay. Someone killed Jim Manelli in my city, and I'm going to make damn sure that they're punished for it."

Colonel Ames sighed. "Goddamn it."

Danny refused to let go. "I know CID's gonna wanna be in on this. Hell, they're probably at the lab right now. But we both know that this case isn't gonna be solved unless you've got somebody on the inside. Somebody who knows the score. That's me. Ya need me, and ya know it. Just give me somethin' to work with, and I'll make sure the sonofabitch that did this'll rot in Rikers," he vowed.

"Listen," said Colonel Ames finally. "Officially, Jim Manelli doesn't exist. You'll investigate the murder of some idiot who got himself murdered in the park. That's it, that's all." He paused, before continuing, "Unofficially…some bastard out there killed my operator. Nail his ass to the wall, Messer."

Danny gave a little half-smile into the phone. "That's what I like to hear." Then, "Thanks, sir."

"Alright. I don't need to tell you this can't be done over the phone. Move your ass, and get working on that case. If you haven't solved it by the end of the week, I'll tell you what I can about what Jimmy was doing in New York. Hop a plane and we'll talk about it when you get on base."

"Got it. And if it comes to that, tell Rudy not to shoot me, 'kay?"

"I'll try."

Danny hung up the phone. History was catching up to him a little more every day. He'd toed the line long enough. It was time to stop running, and face his past.

**A/N: So, to make up for being late last week, I'm updating a little early this week. That and I'm totally swamped with school right now, and I don't know when I'll get another chance. And so it goes. But anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed the last two chapters. This is where I implore you to leave another. I'd really appreciate some feedback on plot and style, as well as any impressions that you all have about the story in general. If you have anything you'd really like to see happen later on in this story, I'd love to hear some suggestions. I'm a little stuck at Chapter 8!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

When Lindsay arrived at the crime lab, the first thing she did was seek out Mac.

"The sooner we solve this case, the sooner Danny gets back to normal," she said to herself determinedly. Then aloud, "Where are those samples?"

Mac stepped back and regarded Lindsay. Her determined cheerfulness did little to conceal her anxiety regarding Danny's situation. "Maybe you should take a break," he said. "Calm down."

Lindsay's brown eyes flashed. "Calm down? How can I calm down when I have no idea what's wrong?" she almost shouted. She caught herself, and continued in a calmer tone of voice. "I haven't seen Danny like this since…since Aiden." She took a breath. "There's more to this case than just an old acquaintance who wound up dead. I want to help, I want to find out why this bothers Danny so much. It scares me, seeing him like this," she admitted. He's always the strong one, he takes care of _me_. Now I want to return the favour and I have no idea where to start."

Mac's expression softened. "I think that your desire to help is a good step," he said. "Let Danny come to you. For now, just…work this as if it were any other case."

Lindsay sincerely doubted this was possible, but she resolved that she would give this case everything she had, if only to get Danny back. _Her _Danny back.

She got to work processing the evidence from the scene, starting with what was left of their personal belongings. The victims' clothing held little evidence, and only told her what she already knew—that whoever killed them had made sure they stayed that way. She had slightly more luck with their pockets, which yielded the usual array of identification and pocket litter.

After reassembling the victims' identification, she finally had the names she was looking for. She met up with Mac on the way to his office.

"First victim's name is Jessica Fields, 23. She was a biochemistry graduate student at NYU." Lindsay passed Mac a photocopy of the woman's student ID. Once he got a look at the paper, she passed him another photocopy, this time of a military identification card. "This is where is gets weird. Victim number two, the guy Danny IDed as Jim Manelli? He's carrying a military ID card that claims he's Sergeant First Class Carl Roth, 41. I did some checking—there's a soldier out at Fort Drum with that name, and he's been listed as AWOL for the past three days."

"So, Danny was wrong."

"I guess he was," said Lindsay slowly. "He was so sure…" She paused, before saying abruptly, "I'm running a search on him. Social security, everything. It'll take awhile."

"Good work," replied Mac. "Let me know if you find anything."

"I'm afraid that won't be necessary," interrupted a voice. "Special Agent Tom Harper, Fort Drum Criminal Investigation Command."

Lindsay watched as Mac shook hands with the other man.

Special Agent Harper was exactly what one would expect of a military investigator. His greying hair was cropped close on the sides, and he wore his sport jacket and polo shirt with the straight-backed condescension of a man who lived his life in a combat uniform.

"We thank you for your cooperation, but we must insist that the body and all evidence be turned over to the Army Criminal Investigation Division," said Harper, with the practiced ease of a man who was used to getting what he wanted.

"Wait a minute," said Lindsay, "You can't just—"

Mac held up a hand to silence her. "I'm sorry, but the evidence collected is also pertinent in the case of a murdered civilian. Any investigations will have to be conducted side-by-side in order for the perpetrator to be brought to justice."

Harper almost smiled. "You've had that one ready and waiting on the tip of your tongue since I introduced myself, haven't you?"

"Actually, since you walked out of the elevator," said Mac mildly. "You walk like a soldier."

"A military man, too, I see," replied the other man.

At Mac's quizzical glance, he smiled. "You're practically standing at attention."

The two chuckled. "Old habits," said Mac.

"Lord, don't I know it." Harper grinned. He didn't look nearly as imposing as he did a moment ago. He must have sensed in Mac a sort of kindred spirit. "Half the guys I meet wear their rank like a goddamn cologne. I can smell a lieutenant a mile away."

Mac just smiled.

At that moment, the elevator doors opened to reveal Danny, who caught Mac's gaze and walked over.

The younger CSI got right to the point. "Find anything yet?" he asked, nodding a terse greeting to Harper before turning to Lindsay.

"Sergeant First Class Carl Roth, 41," she answered. "Looks like it wasn't the guy after all."

"Looks like," said Danny, unconvincingly. Mac noticed, but said nothing.

Agent Harper stepped forward. "Well, well, Taylor. Looking to make your own troop?"

Lindsay was getting aggravated. She had absolutely no idea what was going on with the vic and now she was out of the loop on some inside joke between Mac, Danny and the guy who wanted to steal their case. Before she could speak, however, Danny jumped in.

"I'd never join ranks with a jarhead," said Danny, striving for levity. "Muscles Are Required, Intelligence Not Essential."

"I can send you home," replied Mac, smiling. Whatever funk Danny was in earlier had lifted. Mac was glad. He needed Danny to be focused on the task at hand.

Haper stuck out his hand. "Tom Harper, CID. I'm going to guess…PFC."

"Ouch," said Danny with a wince, though he still smiled. "E-6."

The older man looked surprised. "Kinda young, aren't you?"

"I'm a fast learner."

"Really. Where were you stationed?"

"303rd Logistics out at Fort Bragg."

"A desk jockey?"

"Or somethin'."

"Huh," said Harper. "Wouldn't have figured you for the type."

Danny said nothing.

After a short silence, during which Harper looked as if he'd made some decision, the man spoke. "I think you guys have this one well in hand. We'll take Roth's body and his effects—when you're done with them," he hastened to add when Lindsay looked as if she might interrupt. "We'll be conducting the investigation into his death, and we'll let you know what we find so long as you agree to keep us apprised of the situation with your second victim. Now, I normally wouldn't be so accomodating, but I've got to admit, I feel better knowing that I've got two of our own working this case from the other end."

He turned to leave. "I'll keep you posted," he said over his shoulder as he entered the elevator.

Once the doors closed, Lindsay turned to Danny. "What the hell is going on?"

**A/N: So yes, I borrowed the idea for the 303****rd**** Logistical Studies Group. I won't tell you where until later though. **

**For everyone leaving guesses, sorry, but it's not Camp Lejeune! And now you know…Seriously, though, great guess.**

**But anyway, sorry that it's such a short one people, but in my defense, I've been having the week from hell. Too many papers, too little time. I hope you like this, though, as we're getting closer to the heart of the matter. Enjoy, and, as always, drop me a line (or a review) with questions, comments, and suggestions. I'd love to hear from you.**** Also, I sincerely hope that you haven't all received a zillion alerts since I've been having problems posting this chapter. If you did, my apologies.**

**Happy Thanksgiving! (To all my fellow Canadians.)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Lindsay turned to Danny. "What the hell is going on?"

Danny ignored her question and turned to Mac. "We gonna have to compete with those CID flunkies, ya think?"

"I don't think they'll be as accommodating as Special Agent Harper would have us believe."

"Ya got that right," said Danny.

"No," said Lindsay, before Mac answer. "No way. You are not going to keep ignoring me like this. I've been on the outside of this little inside joke long enough. What's the big secret? Will someone please explain it to me so I can do my job?"

The two men both turned to regard her warily. They were neither of them surprised at her outburst—Danny had considered it a foregone conclusion since he entered the building, but he would have liked it to have been in a more private setting. At home, in bed. In their office. The break room at the very least. He sighed. "Look, Lindsay, I'll explain everythin' later tonight. My place. I promise. Just…let me talk to Mac, get a few things straightened out." His tone was almost pleading. "I don't wanna do this here. Please."

Lindsay took a deep breath and closed her eyes, willing her temper under control. "Fine," she said coldly. "Excuse me. I have work to do."

Mac watched the emotions play across Danny's face as Lindsay walked away. The young CSI was torn, he knew, over what to tell his partner. He knew that the hesitation stemmed mostly from a sense of inadequacy and guilt, but he also knew from experience that both of these feelings had to be dealt with before their relationship stood a chance. He suspected Danny knew this, as well, and decided to remain quiet on the subject. "We'll talk in my office," he said instead, in a tone that left no room for argument.

Danny trailed behind his boss, awash in a sea of questions. Would Lindsay be horrified by what she heard? Hate him for lying to her? How much should he tell her? What should he say? What should he leave out? He passed a hand over the back of his neck, as he often did when his was anxious or upset. He walked into Mac's office and immediately took a seat on the couch.

The older man leaned against his desk. "When I hired you, I warned you this could be a problem."

flashback 

"_So, you're a serviceman," said Mac to the young man he was interviewing._

"_Yes, sir. 303__rd__ Logistics." Danny sat back in the chair, the embodiment of cool, calm, and collected. It would be unsettling if it wasn't so damn annoying. _

"_Logistics." Mac grunted. "That support or something?"_

"_Not exactly."_

"_Colonel Ames gave you a glowing recommendation."_

"_Sir."_

"_I asked around. He's a hard man to please," he added._

"_Yes, sir."_

"_Stop calling me that. It's Mac."_

"_Okay. Mac, then."_

"_Listen, you're résumé's good, your skills obvious, your references impeccable…I want to hire you."_

"_Why do I sense there's a 'but'?" The younger man seemed resigned, almost as if he expected to be turned down._

"_But I'm worried about putting a guy fresh off his first tour on my team without knowing if he'll blow."_

"_What? You mean shell shock? PTSD or whatever the hell they're callin' it these days? I thought you were a Marine. I thought you'd understand the need for somethin' normal." Ah. Finally a flicker of passion, more than a monosyllabic response. He might be a good fit, after all._

"_I was a Marine, that's how I know, and if you want normal, you're in the wrong field. We deal with murder and violence everyday. I need to make sure you can handle it."_

"_I know what I'm getting' into." The young man scoffed. "I can handle it. If you've talked to Colonel Ames, you know it, too."_

_And Mac did know it. But he sensed there was something to the disquieting rumours about this kid. Something serious that made Danny Messer, who was obviously on the fast track to another promotion, leave the army for good._

"_I like you, Messer. I really do. You've got what it takes to be a great CSI. But what happens when your past comes back to haunt you? As one soldier to another…you've got to deal with whatever it is that is bothering you. Otherwise, it'll bring you down."_

"_I'll take my chances," said Danny, refusing to meet Mac's gaze._

"_You obviously have what it takes to get here," Mac said finally. "Just make sure you have what it takes to stay here."_

"_Does that mean I get the job?" Danny asked._

_Mac smiled. "You start Monday."_

/flashback 

"I warned you to deal with it, and you blew it off."

Danny shifted uncomfortably. "I couldn't face it Mac. Not then. It was too fresh."

"And now?" asked Mac.

Danny looked him right in the eye. "I don't have a choice now, do I?"

"No, I guess you don't."

After a few moments' silence, Danny said, "I'll book a flight out to Fort Bragg at the end of the week. If we haven't wrapped the case by then, I'll meet with Colonel Ames, find out what Jimmy was doin' here. I have a feeling that this is bigger than just being at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"So it is him."

"Unofficially."

There was a pause. "Danny, you know I can't send you down there alone," said Mac carefully.

Danny snorted. "What do ya want me to say, Mac? I know you wanna keep this objective, but I doubt they'll let another NYPD cop poach on their land, and they sure as hell won't stand to have one where I'm going."

"So don't take a cop, take your girlfriend."

"What?" asked Danny.

"I hear things. And apparently, girlfriends do get some privileges out there. Play the system. Take Lindsay."

"Mac, how did you…?" He stopped. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea," began Danny.

"Are you serious about her?" asked Mac abrubtly.

"What? I—"

"Are you serious about her?"

"Ya know I am," said Danny. He muttered under his breath, "Ya damn near know everything else, anyhow."

Mac studied the other man for a moment. "If your relationship is going to last, you're going to have to confide in each other. I know she's already told you about the murder of her friends when you showed up at the trial; it's your turn to let her in on this one."

Once again, Danny was speechless. "You knew about that?"

Mac smiled. "Danny, I gave you a day off and you didn't go home. Flack called you a million times and when he finally went over, your neighbour said you'd gone for a day or two. You came back looking like you'd won a million bucks. I think it was a safe bet."

Danny looked sheepish. "I'll tell her what I can. But I still don't think that she'll be allowed to come with me."

"Be persuasive," said Mac. "If I have to put you on the stand for this case and the jury finds out about your history, I'm going to need someone to back you up."

"I know," said Danny. "I'll do my best."

**A/N: Ah. The plot thickens. Hope you liked this chapter. I know I'm putting off the Danny-Lindsay talk, but don't worry, next chapter, you find out everything. Well, everything that Danny wants to tell Lindsay…**

**As always, leave a review with questions, comments, and suggestions. I'm always open to new ideas on where this story is headed.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Danny did not relish the talk ahead of him.

After a long day at the lab going over the evidence collected at the crime scene with a fine tooth comb, he wished he could say that a private evening in with his girlfriend was a desirable end to the day. Unfortunately, Lindsay had been distant all afternoon. He hadn't exactly been feeling himself either—he was worried that once Lindsay found out about his past, she would dump his ass and hop the next flight to Montana. He couldn't blame her. And then there was the possibility of the two of them heading to North Carolina at the end of the week to face his demons on their home turf.

Oh, yeah. Life was just one big, freakin' party.

He unlocked the door to his apartment, and allowed Lindsay to enter before he did. Once inside, he closed and bolted the door, tossing his keys on the table near the door. He shucked his jacket and hung it on the peg next to the door before taking Lindsay's coat and doing the same. In silence, the two headed toward the couch where they both sat down on opposite ends.

The silence continued for another moment or two before Danny said abruptly, "This is stupid. Are we fightin' or somethin'?"

"Yes. No. I don't know," Lindsay said uncertainly.

Danny laughed. "Way to speak your mind, Montana."

Lindsay had to smile a bit. "We're not fighting, per se. But I _am_ a mad about how much you've been keeping from me today." She sighed. "I mean, it seems like Mac knows all about whatever secrets you've got going on but I don't. I guess I just feel left out, or whatever," she finished, looking dejected.

Danny slid over on the couch and put an arm around her shoulders. He should have guessed Lindsay had internalized everything that had happened that day and somehow made it seem like it was _her _shortcomings that were at fault. He knew he had to make it better and fast. He didn't like to see her upset.

"I'm sorry. I've been a world-class ass today, and I know it. But I'm tryin' to make it right." He sucked in a breath. "You know how when Mac hired you, you told him all about what happened to your friends back in Bozeman?" When Lindsay nodded, he continued. "Well, it's the same sorta thing. See, when I interviewed with Mac, all my references, my experience, hell, the interview itself came from the military."

"The military?" asked Lindsay. She reached inside his shirt and slowly drew out his dog tags. "I guess I just assumed they were a family member's," she said, fingering the metal that had warmed against his skin. She studied it closely this time, actually reading the name and information engraved on the small piece of metal.

MESSER

DANIEL J

129650281

O

CATHOLIC

While Lindsay curled into his embrace, toying with his dog tags, he began to speak.

"When my baseball scholarship fell through after that stupid bar fight, I had nothin'. No prospects, no money for college, and no hope of ever makin' enough to put me through. The only thing left for me on the Island was the business." He let out a mirthless chuckle. "My dad said he'd be damned before he'd let me become a wise guy and waste my life like the rest of my family. And besides, I knew I hadda get out while I still could. Anyway, I decided to do what I thought was the only thing I _could_ do. I joined the army right outta high school."

"So young," murmured Lindsay.

"I was eighteen when I found the nearest recruiter and signed up," continued Danny. "Recruitment was down, and they wanted me. I remember leaving the place completely amazed at the amount of money they were payin'. Way more than any job I'd ever had. Course, looking back, I'm surprised that I did what I did for that amount of cash. But anyway, when I got home, I couldn't wait to tell my ma. I thought she'd be proud of me, for findin' my own way, and for finally gettin' on the right track."

His arm tightened around Lindsay, and he absently stoked his hand up and down her arm. She nestled in closer. She knew, by the way he tensed up, that now came the hard part.

"My ma cried when I told her. Just looked at me and cried. My dad wasn't too happy about it, either. Suffice it to say, there was a fight. I packed up my stuff and left. The last thing I told my dad was that he was never proud of me, that he didn't love me, and that I didn't love him. I left the next day. Got on a bus headed for Georgia and promised myself I was going to prove them both wrong."

"Basic Training was pure hell. I worked my ass off to be the best so I could qualify to go to college full-time while still on active duty. And to do that, you _gotta _be the best. Top grades, fit rep…your CO's gotta believe you damn near walk on water. After basic, I did my Advanced Individual Training…Ranger School…Airborne school...joined a Ranger battalion there at Fort Benning. Anyway, I made a name for myself, climbed the promotion ladder, was accepted into the forensics program at Albany State University, and made damn sure my name came up for selection to qualify for the full-time college tuition. I don't remember how I lived through those four years. I had to keep up with school, making it to classes over an hour away, and still be there for training exercises and field manoeuvres."

"The day I graduated was one of the best days of my life. Course it was bittersweet—my parents weren't there. But forensics was a good fit for me. I had the ballistics knowledge of a soldier and the trainin' of a scientist. The army clued into the fact that I might be useful and asked me if I was interested in joinin' a unit at Fort Bragg. 303rd Logistical Studies Group. And it came with a promotion to E-6. I coulda put in to become an officer, found a different post, but I was an enlisted guy, through and through. I didn't need a bunch of snot-nosed lieutenants callin' me 'sir'. So I went through selection and made it in the unit. Here I was, 23 years old and a Staff Sergeant. I was proud as hell, and it showed. The guys knew the score—they knocked me back down in minutes." Danny chuckled briefly.

Lindsay said, "Tell me about them."

There was a pause while Danny reminisced. When he did speak, his eyes were faraway, as if he was reliving the memories in his head.

"Well, there was Jack Flash, the team's resident daredevil. The man had no concept of physical safety. I mean, he'd go chargin' a target in pitch black with nothin' in his hand but a K-bar and a chem light. Uncle Moe—he was the oldest of the group, so we slapped him with the honorific—he was like the den mother of the team, always breakin' up the fights and stuff. Quiet guy. Now that I think of it, he kinda reminds me of Mac. Course there was Surfer Dave, from out in California. Beach hair and everything. That guy couldn't be serious for a second."

There was silence, as Danny thought about what to say next.

"Jim Manelli was another one of my team mates. Each team only had about four or five guys, so we were a pretty tight-knit group. But Jimmy…Jimmy kinda took me under his wing. He was a Yorker, too. Broadway Jimmy, we called him. He was a coupla years older'n me. Showed me the ropes, took me to bars, kept me sane with all the shit goin'n on around then. Saved my ass more times than I can count…" Danny sighed. "He was the one that got me through when I found out my dad died." He laughed mirthlessly. "I told him that the last thing I told my dad was that I didn't love him, and instead of goin' all prechy and feelin' sorry for me, he passed me a beer and told me to get shit-faced. Knew I wouldn't open up without strong alcohol in my system. Let me cry like a baby on his shoulder and attempt to beat the crap outta him." He gave a crooked smile. "You woulda liked him, Montana."

"Anyway, when I decided to leave the military, we kinda lost touch. We went our separate ways. I guess I didn't want to be reminded of all the shit that went in out there, and he was too busy for all the shit that goes on out here."

Lindsay slowly shifted out of his embrace. She turned so she was sitting Indian-style, leaning against the armrest. Her eyes studied Danny intently. Finally, she would have a chance to ask the question that had haunted her all day. "How come you never told me?"

**A/N: Okay, know you know all. Or, at least, most…**

**Of course, this chapter comes with the added disclaimer that I am not in the military and basically don't know much about it. I tried my best to make this story as accurate as possible (at least, according to wikipedia, the most useful inaccurate source on the web) but there will always be some things that are stretched, invented, or downright wrong. I know that there is a way for soldiers on active duty to attend school, however, it is highly unlikely that it would have been completed in the four-year time frame I set out here, and it would be damn near impossible for someone who isn't a clerk or something to manage both school and army commitments. I'll have to ask you to suspend your disbelief on this one.**

**If any of you spot any other glaring errors, don't hesitate to bring them to my attention. If it doesn't completely interfere with my storyline, I'll fix it.**

**As always, looking forward to hearing from you all.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Lindsay slowly shifted out of his embrace. She turned so she was sitting Indian-style, leaning against the armrest. "How come you never told me?"

The enquiry was simple on the surface, but Danny had never heard a more loaded question. He could make up some bullshit about how it didn't matter, or how she'd never asked, or how he'd just never gotten around to it, but as he looked into her eyes and saw only self-doubt, he knew he had to tell her _something_. He took her hand in his as he chose his words carefully.

"When I was in the military…I did some things that…I wasn't proud of. Just not talking about it, pretendin' it never happened was my way of dealin' with it. Or not dealin' with it, I guess."

"Bullshit," said Lindsay.

"What?" He hadn't expected anger. Pity, maybe. Guilt, even. But not anger.

"Bullshit. We all do things we aren't proud of. I have a busload of things I wish I could forget. But all the important stuff, the life-altering experiences…I told you about them, no matter how painful. I told you about my friends' murder."

"No ya didn't!" said Danny, instantly defensive. "Ya told me ya had stuff to deal with and ignored me. I had to pull the story outta ya!"

"I told you when it mattered!" Lindsay shot back. "And besides, we were barely talking to each other as it was. I get not telling me when we were just co-workers. Or even just friends—I could put up with that. But Danny, we've been dating for six months. That's not just some casual fling. We have a relationship—"

"And I wanted to keep it that way!" Danny shouted.

"What are you talking about?" Lindsay was getting frustrated. She'd had enough of not understanding, and she wanted answers. Real answers, not patronizing attempts at shutting her up.

"Look, if ya found out about some of the things I did, ya'd think I was a monster," said Danny.

"Danny—"

"No. You wanna hear it? Fine. I've killed people, Lindsay. I've looked people in the eye and killed them. With a gun. With a knife. Hell, with a fuckin' garrotte. I'm a murderer, are ya happy now?" The look on his face was at once desperate and angry. He lowered his voice slightly. "I'm a police officer now—I'm supposed to save lives, but I've taken them. All those guys we put away…" He snorted and almost shouted, "I'm no better than them! Do ya hate me now, Lindsay? Do ya? Are ya disgusted? Don't ya wish ya'd never met me?" Danny was getting worked up, and couldn't stop even if he wanted to. He barrelled on, getting the fear, the self-doubt, the insecurities off his chest. But he didn't look at Lindsay—couldn't look at her—for fear of what he might see.

"Danny." Lindsay tried again to get his attention.

His voice had become softer, the tone begged without words for her understanding. "I know I'm not good enough for ya, but I just can't seem to make myself do the right thing and leave ya alone."

"So now you want to break up with me _for my own good_?" Lindsay didn't know whether to be amused or outraged. "I can take care of myself, Danny. If you'd stop being so self-absorbed for one minute maybe you'd see that we have a good thing going, and it has nothing to do with your past," she said sharply, hoping to crack his shell of melancholy.

Instead she awakened his frustration. "No, that's not what I meant, it's just—Jesus. Did ya ever thing that maybe I couldn't tell ya because I love ya?" he demanded.

That shut her up quickly.

"What did you say?" she asked quietly.

Danny looked away quickly. "Forget it," he said. "It's nothing."

Now it was Lindsay's turn to avert her eyes. The anger in his voice made her second-guess his stated feelings. "So you didn't mean it?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"What—No! I didn't mean that," Danny replied. "I mean, I did, but—God, what the hell am I saying?"

"You just got finished saying that you didn't love me," Lindsay said sharply. "That point came through loud and clear."

"This is so screwed up," said Danny. "Let me start again." He took both of Lindsay's hands in his bigger ones. He studied their entwined hands for a moment, marvelling at the smoothness of her long-fingers compared to his coarse, scarred ones before speaking. "I do love ya. I guess I just…Listen, I know ya prob'ly don't want to hear that right now, especially with all the shit I just dumped on ya, but it just came out and then ya thought—"

He was rambling, which Lindsay found ridiculously endearing considering his usual ease around women. She took pity on him, despite the sudden flash of pain his earlier words had caused, and interrupted.

"Danny, you never gave me the chance to say anything back." She looked into his eyes, startled by the depth of emotion she found there; the love and tenderness and vulnerability in his gaze. "I love you, too, you know" she said quietly.

Danny gazed at her with an expression akin to wonder. "Even after everything I told you?"

"Even then," said Lindsay. She gave an amused sort of half-smile. Deciding there was a time to be serious and a time to lighten the mood, she continued. "Love isn't something you can just switch on and off when you find out something that you don't like. I'm not about to dump you for something that happened before I even met you." She snorted self-deprecatingly, rolling her eyes. "As if I could. I don't know if you know this Messer," she said, drawing closer to him, as if to confide some deep dark secret, "But I've become addicted to you. It's maddening, really."

"I have that effect on people," Danny said. He smiled, despite himself. How could he not when she changed topics so quickly and effectively. "You know, I've never told a girl I loved her before. Well, not countin' my ma."

"Really?" asked Lindsay. "That so…" She searched for the word."

"Romantic? Sexy? Devilishly attractive?" supplied Danny.

"Cliché."

"Excuse me, Montana?" Danny couldn't help but give a bark of startled laughter.

"Oh, come on, Danny. You've got to admit…Staten Island kid from the wrong side of the tracks confesses his undying love—"

"—No one said anything about 'undying'—"

"—Confesses his love to the gorgeous Midwestern girl next door—"

"—Girl next door? I've seen what you wear under those work clothes, Monroe—"

"Oh shut up," said Lindsay, giggling. "We're practically living our own chick flick."

"Action comedy at least," protested Danny. "Gotta keep up my macho image."

"Were you this insecure in the army?" she teased.

Danny took her question seriously, and felt the need to convince her—and himself—of his good intentions. "I've changed since then; I'm better."

Lindsay laid a hand on his chest, sobering instantly. "You're not better—that would imply something was wrong with you in the first place. You're just…more."

Danny gave a very small smile. "You make me want to be more."

The two shared a glance full of love and humour.

"Okay," said Lindsay, after a pause, seeing the words forming on his lips. "Ruin this moment with your sick and depraved mind. You can say it."

Danny laughed. "And I make you beg for more!" he crowed.

Lindsay joined him in his laughter. "That you do, Cowboy." She smiled seductively, looking him right in the eye. "I think it's safe to say we got over our pseudo-fight," she said. "Time to make up. So, to use your words…more."

"Did I hear a 'please'?"

"Is that a 'no'?"

"Uh…"

"More."

Danny shuddered at the heat conveyed in that one, single word. "Comin' right up, Montana."

Lindsay barely had a chance to notice his double entendre before Danny swept her up in his arms and made for the bedroom. He wondered later, while he watched her sleep, how he had come to be so lucky.

She wondered the exact same thing.

**A/N: Wow. I am so sorry. I caught the fluff bug. (Because no one on campus ever washes their hands…) I'm ashamed of myself for succumbing to the insidious disease, but alas! I figured after all this tension and emotional upheaval, the two deserved a little catharsis. Who am I to judge two fictional characters screwing each other's brains out? Besides, I'm getting mighty fed up with the writers of the show. I mean come on, they end last season with the revelation that Danny and Lindsay ended up in the sack, but so far this season their relationship has consisted of a meaningful look over condom spray and an amusing yet very unsatisfying debate over fictional cars. None of this is blowin' up my skirt, people! **

**But anyway. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and despite my aforementioned distaste for "whoring myself out for reviews," it must be done. I've noticed that the number of reviews per chapter has been…dismal to say the least. I wonder if anyone's reading anymore! I'm thinking of discontinuing this story if I don't get a decent amount of feedback as it is one hell of a lot of work and I am very short on time. So please, if you want to see more of this story, let me know! I thrive on your words, people!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

When Danny and Lindsay arrived at the lab the next day, they decided to abandon all pretence and enter together. For the past couple of months, they had tried to hide their relationship from anyone related to the lab, and it had been a drain on both of them. Hiding a relationship from anyone was difficult. Hiding it from a lab full of skilled investigators who made it their lives' pursuit to uncover secrets was damn near impossible. Walking into work, together, fingers intertwined, felt like a release.

Flack was the first to intercept them on their way to their shared office. "Hey, guys. Three minutes late. Busy night?" He waggled his eyebrows comically, grinning from ear to ear.

Danny glared at him, while Lindsay laughed. "You know it," she said, wearing a brilliant smile of her own. "What can I say, we're both insatiable."

Flack cringed. "I really didn't need to know all the details. But seriously guys," said, his joking voice aside, "It's about time you let the cat outta the bag. We're all happy for you. Just wanted you to know."

"Thanks man," said Danny. "Now, can we get to work or do we hafta listen to everyone else's innuendos?"

"Someone definitely didn't get his beauty sleep," said Flack good-naturedly, turning to leave. "Find somethin' for me on the Roth-Fields case, will ya?"

"Yeah, yeah," said Danny. "We're workin' on it."

Danny and Lindsay exchanged a long-suffering look before heading their separate ways.

"I'm on my way to see Sid," said Danny, "Find out more about the COD."

Lindsay touched his arm gently. She knew how hard he was taking the case. And the marked resemblance of the victim to his old friend didn't help, either. "Are you sure? I can do that if…"

"Nah," replied Danny. "It's somethin' I gotta do."

Lindsay watched him walk off, sighing quietly. He acted as if he was fine, but she new better. The flash of pain that clouded his clear blue eyes for the briefest of moments had told her that. She knew that though the team was investigating the death of Carl Roth, Danny was still convinced that the victim was his old friend. Despite evidence to the contrary, he still believed it. She didn't know why, but it was in her nature to be inquisitive, and she was determined to get to the bottom of this case that caused her lover so much sorrow.

She started by picking up the test results on the weapon found at the crime scene. The only fingerprints on it belonged to Carl Roth. A dead end.

She decided to check on the social security search that she had started the day before. At least if would give them a starting point.

Lindsay arrived at the computer, and smiled when she saw the search was finally complete. It had taken quite a while—Carl Roth was apparently a very common name—but the computer had given her a match. Her eyes quickly scanned the page.

The findings were consistent with the information they had already uncovered, but there was one red flag that caught her attention. She frowned. Nothing about this case was making sense.

While Lindsay struggled with the social security search, Danny struggled with his own inner demons. He paused outside the doors of the autopsy room. He took a few deep breaths before going in and hearing how the man who knew all of his secrets had died.

"Talk to me, Sid," said Danny shortly.

For once, Sid got right to the point. "The victims were both killed by shrapnel wounds, more specifically, these little buggers." The pathologist held up a flechette with a pain of tweezers. "Nasty things," he said, shaking his head. "All things considered, I'd say the victims have been dead for about forty-eight hours."

"Anythin' else ya can tell me?" asked Danny.

"Not really. Judging by the depth of penetration of the shrapnel, I would estimate that the weapon was fired from about eighteen feet away, but you'll have to test that theory for yourself."

"Ya came up with that number how?"

"Well, when I was in college there was this…"

"Ya know what, Sid? Forget I asked."

"It's actually a very interesting story—"

Danny didn't hear as he was already headed to Mac's office to update him on Sid's findings. He was determined to solve this case by the book, make sure that there was no way his evidence could be disqualified in court. He'd told Colonel Ames that he was going to catch the person responsible for killing Broadway Jimmy AKA Carl Roth, and he'd be damned if the guy walked because of him.

Lindsay was also on the way to see Mac. In fact, she practically ran to the man's office. She pushed the door open and didn't even wait for the man to look up from his papers before she began speaking.

"Some things aren't adding up. The weapon found at the scene had no fingerprints save his own."

"That's impossible," said Danny, entering the room himself. "There's no way he could fire the weapon that killed him. Sid said that the wounds were caused by a round fired at least eighteen feet away."

"There's something else," said Lindsay. Danny could tell that this was the evidence that she was really excited about. "I ran our second vic through a social security search. There's no record of a Carl Roth, born July 18, 1966. He didn't exist before May of last year, when he appeared here in New York before heading out to Fort Drum."

"That can't be right," said Mac. "The Army wouldn't employ somebody without a past."

"And nobody would send him on assignment with such a crappy cover story," Danny added. "Besides, what's his connection to Jessica Fields?"

"I have no idea. But I think I know how we can find out." Lindsay's eyes sparked with excitement. "If we want to know what's really going on with Sergeant Roth, we're in for a bit of a road trip."

"You read my mind, Montana."

"You realize that Fort Drum is about as far upstate as you can get," said Mac.

"Your point?" asked Danny, holding Lindsay's hand and grinning cheekily.

Mac cocked an eyebrow and shook his head. "It'll take at least a few hours."

"No substitute for good detective work," said Lindsay.

"Oh, get out of here," said Mac. "Let me know what you find."

"Will do, Mac," Danny looked serious. "Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this."

**A/N: I know, I know. This chapter was kinda shoddy. My appologies. But I needed to get the two of them to Fort Drum where a bit more of the mystery unfolds. Hopefully the next few chapters are better.**

**Yep, you heard me right. The next few chapters. Now that I'm convinced I have some readers, I'm less inclined to discontinue this story. (See, reviewing **_**does**_** work!) Unfortunately, my school schedule doesn't agree with you. I have eight papers and three midterms in the next three weeks, so don't go expecting any fantastic chapters from me until these projects—and finals, for that matter—are over. I'll try to keep my posting schedule, though, just for you guys. I should be able to get this story really moving my Christmas as a special gift to you all!**

**Cheers!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Lindsay was uncharacteristically silent on the way to Fort Drum.

A silent Lindsay always made Danny nervous. Since they had started dating, the only times she was completely silent tended to be just before she was going to say something that completely blew him away. Sometimes it was a good thing, and would end up with the two of him entwined on his bed, in his shower, on his pool table…unable to move for hours after they had exhausted themselves with each other. Other times, she would say something that made him wish she wasn't so damn observant. Usually in these cases, she'd make a particularly astute observation about his life of his character, or she'd catch a glimpse of an emotion that Danny didn't want to name.

Sometimes it was love. Other times, it was fear.

Now that she knew that he loved her—thanks to the draining and unbelievably botched conversation they'd had the day before—the fear was starting to creep up on him and fast.

He tried not to hold his breath as he waited for her to speak.

Lindsay gazed at him for a moment more before speaking. "You still think that Carl Roth is Jim Manelli."

It wasn't a question, and Danny knew better than to treat it as one. Instead, he bit the bullet. There was no use denying it. As his girlfriend, Lindsay could easily read him. As a detective…well, he had no chance. "What gave me away."

Lindsay smiled. "I know you."

"You think you know me," Danny corrected, irritated by her (completely justified) complacency.

"You're only half right, you know," replied Lindsay. "I thought I knew you yesterday, only to find out about a huge portion of your life that you'd hidden from me. And I still think you're hiding more. But I know you. I know that you are a decent man—a little rough around the edges, but a decent man—who wants to make a difference. That hasn't changed about you." She placed her hand on his leg gently before continuing. "I know that when you're nervous or afraid or frustrated you rub the back of your neck, or pinch your nose between your fingers. I know that you'd rather avoid someone than lie to them. I know that you never accept something that you don't think is right without a fight. I know you, and I know that you are still convinced that Jim Manelli is dead, and that you won't rest until you prove it, if only to yourself."

Danny was silent for a long moment, afraid and a little humbled that Lindsay had read him so well.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked finally.

"I want you to tell me what you're thinking. I want you to let me in on this. I want you to let me help you," replied Lindsay, frustrated.

"Carl Roth and Jim Manelli are the same guy."

"You're positive."

"As good as."

"You know something I don't know?" asked Lindsay.

"I called my old CO, Colonel Ames, yesterday. He confirmed that Broadway Jimmy was here on assignment in New York."

Lindsay nodded and thought about that for awhile. The silence in the car was almost deafening. Danny could practically hear the wheels in her head turning.

When at last she spoke, she asked the question that every man in his unit had learned to dread more than death. "So what exactly did you _do_ in the 303rd Logistical Studies Group?"

Danny paused uneasily. "We managed logistical operations for field and garrison units. You know, passin' along information, getting' everyone where they're supposed to go."

"Sounds awfully vague," commented Lindsay. His answer had sounded rehearsed, as if he had to memorize what he had done in case anyone ever asked him about it.

"It's been a long time," said Danny, as if that explained it.

"It's been five years," retorted Lindsay. "Not so long."

"Listen, can we just drop it? You know I don't like talking about this stuff." Danny was growing uncomfortable, which made Lindsay curious as to what he was hiding. It seemed like lately everything was a secret and she had to mine for clues, dig for answers as if they were some precious metal buried in intractable stone.

Lindsay was about to question him further when Danny announced, "We're here. Fort Drum."

"Perfect timing," muttered Lindsay sarcastically.

By the time they got in and made it toward the CID office, they were both feeling a little put out. The guards had been surly, and they had given the two detectives the run-around until Danny had quite menacingly got up in one of the soldiers' faces and, in his best Staff Sergeant voice, demanded to be led to Special Agent Harper.

"Detectives," greeted the Special Agent, when they were led to his office. "I didn't expect to see you so soon." He dismissed the soldier who brought them there with a wave. With a grin he said, "I hear you've made quite an impression here already."

Lindsay smiled back at him. "Word travels fast around here. We're actually here to talk to the man who processed Sergeant Roth's transfer here. Do you know who that is?"

Harper considered the question for a moment. "I'd guess that's Colonel Velasquez. Been a fixture here at Fort Drum for time out of mind. I'll take you to him." He paused for a moment. "Try not to be too hard on the guy. He's not as bad as he seems."

Danny nodded, slightly intrigued by the man's warning, before he and Lindsay followed their impromptu tour guide to a small, non-descript building. They were told to wait for a few minutes before the Colonel deigned to see them.

Colonel Vasquez was the exact opposite of what Lindsay expected to see in a military officer. His appearance seemed dishevelled, his moustache a little too long, his smile a little too forced, his gut a little too advanced for a career military man for whom fitness was a lifestyle. He was sweating profusely, and his authoritarian image was further undercut since his jacket was strewn haphazardly across his chair. He extended a pudgy hand toward the two. "Detectives," he said, striving for geniality. "Hope you haven't been waiting too long."

"Not at all," said Lindsay politely, shaking the other man's hand. She watched as Danny and Velasquez sized each other up when they repeated the gesture.

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about Sergeant Roth," said Danny. "Hope that won't be a problem." His tone of voice suggested he wouldn't care if it was.

"Of course not!" said Velasquez. "Real sad. It's always tough to lose one of your own."

"I'll bet," said Danny under his breath.

Lindsay gave him a sharp look before turning to face the other man. "When did you hire Sergeant Roth?"

"Couple of months ago."

"And he transferred from…" Lindsay let the man fill in the question himself.

"Came over from Fort Benning or something."

"Or somethin'? You guys are real big on security, aren't ya?" Danny interjected.

"Maybe it was Fort Bragg. I don't know. They're both so similar."

"They both start with 'b'. End of similarities," said Danny rudely.

Lindsay shot him a quelling look. "Why did he decide to transfer here?"

"He said he wanted out of the high-stress shit. Wanted a new post closer to his family."

"Did you do a background check?" Danny's questions was a little more confrontational than Lindsay's had been, and Velasquez answered sharply, obviously angry that his performance was called into question.

"Course I did. Didn't find much about his life before the last couple of months or so."

"And you didn't think that was odd?"

"He said he was doing some undercover stuff back home. They had to shuffle some stuff around. Said I'd get the whole story by the end of the month."

"And you bought that?" Danny was incredulous. Which of course made the colonel defensive again.

"Somebody vouched for him."

"Mind if I ask who?" asked Lindsay, breaking in.

"It was his CO. Captain Roberts, I think."

"You're sure?" This time, Danny's question held none of the derision of his previous ones. He obviously considered this to be an important development.

"Yeah. I mean, I could look it up for you if you want." It was obvious by his tone that the last thing Velasquez wanted to do was look up a file.

Danny ignored it and said, "That'd be great."

While Velasquez left the room for a moment to get the file, Lindsay looked over at Danny.

"What was that all about?"

"Whad'ya mean, Montana?" asked Danny, flashing his best charm smile.

"You know what I mean," said Lindsay, unable to completely ignore the effect his smile had on her. "Why were you being such a smart ass with that guy."

"What are ya talking 'bout? I asked him questions same as I always do." At Lindsay's sceptical look, he said, "Maybe I didn't like the way he was mentally undressin' my girl," he said with a smile.

"Shut up," said Lindsay. "It's not going to work."

"Listen, it just bugs me that this guy's obviously incompetent and he's here all high and mighty."

"Yeah, still not buying it," said Lindsay.

"What?"

"As soon as you heard about that whole 'undercover' thing, you suddenly got all serious. What's up with that?"

Danny considered his answer, not sure how much he should say. "Everything that Velasquez said about 'Roth'—the explanation for lack of background, the name of the CO who vouched for him—it doesn't follow protocol." He looked confused for a moment. "I mean, the first part, it's tenuous _at best_, and the second…just doesn't make sense."

Before Lindsay could ask what he meant, Velasquez returned with the file. "Yep, it's all here. CO—Captain Roberts, Fort Bragg." He emphasized 'Bragg' with a pointed look toward Danny. "Here's the contact number, case you want to interrogate _him_, too." Another dirty look. "Other info's on temporary hold until the specifics are made available." He showed the detectives the file before tossing it on his desk. "We about done here, detectives?"

"Yeah, I think we've got what we need," said Danny, getting up to leave.

**AN: Well, here it is. Another chapter. You guys are damn lucky that I had a few squared away on file, or else I would not be posting for quite a while. But anyway, hope you liked this chapter. I'm trying to introduce the clues one by one, so if this is throwing you all for a loop…well, just wait until chapter ten!**

**Thanks to all of you who have reviewed so far, and to those who wished me luck with all my scholastic endeavours. What can I say? I guess misery loves company.**

**As always, drop me a line with questions, comments, and suggestions.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

When the two arrived back in the city, they went straight to Danny's apartment. Both of their shifts were long since over, and they were tired from the day of monotonous driving and emotional upheaval. But the day wasn't over quite yet.

"You go on to bed," said Danny. "I've gotta make a call."

Lindsay looked at him, suspicious, before disappearing into the bedroom. When she was gone, he picked up his phone and dialled the number from Carl Roth's personnel file. The phone rang precisely three times before being answered.

"Hello?" The female voice was cautious, clipped and polite. "How may I help you?"

"Danny Messer for Colonel Ames, please."

This time, his call was transferred right away. Apparently some people could be taught. The thought was strangely gratifying.

"Messer," the Southern drawl of Colonel Ames barked over the line. "You get 'im yet?"

"Not yet sir," said Danny. "I'm callin' about Jimmy's cover. I just went over to Fort Drum—"

"What were you doing at Fort Drum?" asked Ames, as if Danny's assertion was some asinine suggestion that he could not fathom.

"Whaddaya think?" asked Danny, puzzled. "We talked to Colonel Velasquez about 'Carl Roth'. He's supposedly stationed there."

"Who's Colonel Velasquez? And Carl Roth? And what the fuck was Jim doing at Fort Drum?" asked Ames, in his usual direct way. "We sent him to West Point."

"What?" Danny was growing more confused by the minute. "Jim was carrying a military ID, identifying him as Carl Roth, who went AWOL from Fort Drum three days before his body was found in the park."

"Carl Roth? He was supposed to be Richard Tate," said the colonel.

"Well that explains a lot," said Danny slowly.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, for one thing, why his cover sucked so much."

Ames gave a sudden bark of laughter. "That's rich, coming from you."

Danny replied, "Hey, just 'cause I left…the way I did doesn't mean I can't appreciate it when you guys do a good job. But this cover was shit."

"If we do a good job, no one ever knows it happened."

"As it should be."

"As it should be," echoed Ames. "But that still doesn't explain what the hell Jimmy was doing at Fort Drum. And why he ended up dead in Central Park." He sighed gustily. "This shit is deeper than either of us thought, and that's saying something. We're moving up the schedule. Get your ass on a transport out here ASAP. I'll have creds waiting for you as soon as you get on base."

Danny took a breath. "There's a problem…"

"No problem," said Ames. "Either you're here or you're not. Make it work."

"I'm a civil servant now," said Danny. "I've gotta worry about accountability, chain of possession, my evidence standing up in a court of law."

"Cut the bullshit, Messer. I'm a busy man. Spit it out," ordered Ames.

"I gotta bring someone with me."

"Aw, hell," said Ames, his tone of voice conveying his disgust loud and clear. "No way I'm gonna have some civilian cop nosin' around my base. Find another way."

"I did," said Danny. "When I signed up, it was with the understandin' that I could confide basic details with one person."

"Yeah, as in a wife or girlfriend," said Ames. "Not some co-worker five years down the line."

"I'm bringin' my girlfriend. Lindsay Monroe. She's a detective, too. Listen, my boss won't hear about me goin' unless someone else comes with me. If I go, she goes. Simple as that."

"Damn, Messer. You sure twist regs to the breaking point."

"Which is why I was one of the best operators you had. Anyway, blame my boss," said Danny. "He was a marine."

"Shit," said Ames. "No good ever came with a devil dog in the mix." He sighed. "Alright, bring your woman. But she gets the standard 'significant other' spiel. No more, got it?"

"Yeah, I got it. We'll head over to West Point tomorrow morning and take the red eye out to you guys when we're done."

"Good. I'll have your papers waiting for you at the gates tomorrow morning. Pick 'em up as soon as you get here. Don't keep me waiting too long. My patience is legendary, but I can only go so far."

"It's your lack of patience that's legendary, sir, and I wouldn't dream of maxin' it out."

"Damn right," said Ames.

Danny hung up the phone, shaking his head. It was always a draining experience talking with his former commanding officer.

"Aren't you going to ask me my opinion? Perhaps there's something you forgot to mention."

Lindsay's voice came from behind him, and he whirled around in surprise. "What the hell ya doin'?" he asked. "How much didya hear?"

"Um, from about the part when you said 'Danny Messer for Colonel Ames, please'."

"You're spyin' on me?" Danny was incredulous. "What the hell? And I'm supposed to trust you?"

"Trust is a two way street, Messer. Obviously I can't trust you to tell me what's going on _in my own case_, so I had to find an alternative source of information."

"My private phone calls?"

"If need be."

"I woulda told you, eventually."

"When, tomorrow morning when you tell me to back a bag, we're on a flight to God knows where? Are you crazy?"

With that, all the fight went out of Danny. "I'm sorry, okay? I'll try to do better, I swear, but ya gotta realize, there are some things that I just _can't_ tell you. Not ever. Some things…when we get to Fort Bragg, I'll be able to tell you a few other things. Nothing specific, you understand, but a general background. Answer some of your questions, at least. Enough so I won't be lyin' to ya."

"I'm just not sure that's good enough anymore," said Lindsay. She walked over to the door and grabbed her coat.

"Wait, where're you goin'?" asked Danny. "Come on, Montana, don't be like this—"

Lindsay spun around angrily. "Like what, Danny? I'm getting really tired of this whole thing. You've been lying to me since the beginning—"

"I haven't lied, not really," said Danny. "So there's some stuff I didn't tell you—"

"A lie by omission, then. Danny, I told you _everything_. Everything about my life that you wanted to know, I told you. Even when it was like reliving everything over again, I told you. Now I realize that our relationship was never a two way street. Turns out, you weren't even driving at all."

**A/N: I'm always looking for feedback about my work, especially regarding stylistics and plot. This fic is radically unlike everything I've ever done—most of my writing tends to favour a sarcastic and wordy style that goes for irony over concise description. Chapter 10 seems like a good place to stop a moment and ask you all a few questions about how I'm doing so far:**

**Does the pseudo-minimalist style I have been using achieve its goal of simulating the emphasis on dialogue of the show, or is it too dull or non-descriptive to work properly?**

**Does the lack of variation in the dialogue tags grow boring, or do they do their job and simply fade into the text and become almost unnoticeable?**

**Is the introduction of evidence one piece at a time too slow or too confusing for you to follow? Does the plot take too long to unfold?**

**Are the characters**_** in**_** character when they communicate with each other or does the dialogue miss the boat when it comes to capturing their personalities?**

**Do the unexplained hints about Danny's past create tension and suspense that foreshadow later events or explanations, or do they only create confusion?**

**I would really appreciate if you would take the time to read and answer at least some of these questions, as I am constantly seeking ways in which I can become a better writer. Any input at all can dramatically chance the style of my work—I'm giving all the power to you, here.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Danny did not sleep well that night.

He hated to admit it to himself, but he had grown accustomed to falling asleep with his arm around Lindsay, her head pillowed on his chest. He had grown accustomed to catching the scent of her hair—a delicate floral fragrance he was never able to place. He had grown accustomed to listening to her gentle breathing and feeling her heart beat against his chest. He had grown accustomed to her, and he didn't like not having her near. Especially when the tantalizing scent of something inherently Lindsay clung to his sheets, haunting his senses until he was sure it would drive him mad.

He couldn't take anymore and got out of bed. He walked into the kitchen and put on the coffee maker. It was four am, after all. So he got an early start to a long and gruelling day. So what?

While the coffee was brewing, he sank into the couch and switched on the television. Of course, there was nothing good on. He settled on some infomercial where some hyperactive salesman did his best to sell cooking knives by destroying every surface known to man. After a few minutes of the man's mindless prattle, Danny was glad to get away from the TV and pour himself a cup of coffee.

He drank it strong and black, hoping the shot of caffeine would hurry up and hit him already. After draining his second cup, he put his mug in the sink and headed for the shower. While he was under the spray, he thought about the night before and how he could make it up to his Montana.

He felt like an ass.

It was obvious that all she wanted was for him to be straight with her, but he couldn't even give her that. There were some things that he couldn't tell her—couldn't tell anyone. Hell, he didn't even want to tell himself. Some parts of his life that were better kept buried.

He knew that despite their argument, Lindsay would be waiting for him at the lab, her bags packed, waiting for him so that they could make it out to West Point before driving to the airport to catch their flight to Fort Bragg. He knew that at the office, she would pretend nothing was wrong, but her voice would convey an undertone of frost, and her back would be ramrod straight whenever he chanced to glance over at her. He knew that in the field, she would act completely professional. He knew that on the plane, she would ignore him. He knew that once they got to the Fort Bragg and learned what he'd done, she'd probably hate him.

He stepped out of the shower, rigorously towelling off, wiping away his self-loathing thoughts along with the drops of water that still clung to his skin. There was nothing to be gained from his self-serving moping. Out of nowhere, his dad's voice: "Suck it up. Be a man." It assaulted him from all sides. Be cool. Be calm. Suck it all in, act like it's a joke, hide behind a laugh.

By the time he got to the lab, he almost believed it.

Almost.

He caught a glimpse of himself reflecting back at him from one of the highly impractical polished glass walls of the lab. He looked like hell—like he hadn't slept a wink, hadn't eaten a thing, hadn't even taken the time to run a comb through his hair before turning up at work looking like a man awaiting execution. Of course, he reflected, all of that was true.

Then he saw Lindsay sitting in their shared office, looking for all the world like nothing was bothering her. Until he saw that her eyes were red-rimmed and slightly puffy, and noticed with his detective eyes the dark circles underneath them, which could not be completely hidden by any amount of fancy make up, no matter how expertly applied. Her misery was obvious to him, though anyone who did not know her as well as he did would be hard pressed to notice. It was also obvious that he was the cause of it, and instead of feeling pleased that she was not as impervious to last night's events as she would have him believe, he felt ashamed that his unnecessary caginess had caused it all. If he had simply kept her in the loop, told her what he was thinking, apprising her of the possibilities, wherever possible, they would not be in this mess.

He forced himself to abandon his pity party before entering the office and standing by his desk. "Ready to head over to West Point?" he asked.

"Yes," said Lindsay.

There was an awkward silence.

"Look, Linds—" he began.

"Don't, Danny. Just don't. I'm not ready to talk to you yet."

"Please," Danny almost begged, "I screwed up—I know that. Just don't…don't give up on us. Don't throw what we have away on this thing."

Lindsay's eyes, which had resolutely held his in a stony glare softened a bit. "I'm not giving up on us. I just…need to stew for a bit. Get my anger towards you and this stupid case out of my system. I don't know why you have to be so secretive, but…I just have to have faith that someday, you'll tell me what you can," she finished sadly.

"I will," Danny promised. "Tomorrow, after we meet with Colonel Ames, I'll tell you what I can. It won't be everything," he said, a little anxiously, "But at least the stuff that matters."

"And I'll have to learn to accept that," said Lindsay. "But you don't have to worry about me breaking up with you just yet." She stood up and brushed against him, about to pass by. And then, with the barest hint of an impish grin, "Besides, if I was going to dump your ass, it would be on the way to North Carolina. From the plane."

Danny couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, yeah. Wiseass."

Lindsay laughed. "You know you love me."

"I do, Montana. I really do."

The charming blush staining her cheeks as she brushed past him into the hallway told him that they were going to be okay.

When he followed her out to the SUV, his step was lighter and his smile broader than ever. For the first time since last night, he thought that maybe, just maybe Lindsay would understand after all.

**A/N: First off, I have to thank everyone who has reviewed this story, especially those of you who endeavoured to answer the questions that I posted last week. Your comments were all helpful, and I have taken each and every one to heart. I have to apologize to those of you who think that this story is spinning its wheels as I haven't really had a chance to sit down and really hammer out the kinks. I've been posting chapters as is, and until my scholastic commitments let up a bit, I'm shackled to what I already have written. **

**On another note, I've been trying to find a fanfic that I read quite awhile ago, with no success. I can only remember on scene, where Danny and Hawkes were watching the mating video and Lindsay walks in with her "Footage of your thirtieth birthday party, Messer?" line. And he replies "No you remember…" something to the effect of you were bent over my kitchen table. I don't quite remember. Anyway, they were hiding their relationship before that happened. I really liked the story and have wanted to add it to my favourites. If anyone knows off-hand what the story is, let me know, please!**

**Thanks!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The drive to Highland Falls and the West Point campus was typically uneventful. The atmosphere had become considerably lighter since Danny and Lindsay's short conversation at the lab. Although a hint of coldness remained, it slowly dissipated as Lindsay took in the majestic and vibrant trees along the way, which celebrated autumn in a blaze of colourful glory.

They were admitted onto the grounds when the both flashed their badges, and they parked a short way away from the administrative offices.

"Good old Hudson High," said Danny. "Assembly line for all the smart-ass officers the military has to offer." He grinned at the dirty looks the few passing students in earshot gave him.

Lindsay shook her head. "I know this place brings out all your alpha-male tendencies, but maybe you could try to avoid getting the crap beat out of you by a hoard of angry Marines.

"I'd like to see them try." Danny grinned cockily. "I'll have them beggin' for their mamas."

Lindsay grinned. "Careful there Danny. One slip up and I'll have to tell Mac what you just said."

They were directed to "Richard Tate's" supervisor, who had little to say about the man other than that he was respected by students and instructors alike, and that he had been missing for a little over three weeks.

"We filed the report when he didn't show up for two days. Dispatched some guys to his quarters, who found nothing unusual, so we left it up to the MPs to figure it out."

Another dead end.

After finding that the supervisor had nothing of value, Lindsay asked if she could speak to some of his students in order to get a better of idea of how he acted in the days prior to his disappearance. They were directed to his Introduction to Warfighting class where a number of first-year students took notes in various degrees of diligence while a substitute instructor lectured.

"Sorry to interrupt," said Lindsay, and, flashing her badge, "Detectives Monroe and Messer, NYPD. We're here about First Sergeant Tate. Mind if we ask your class a few questions?" she asked, an engaging smile directed at the instructor. Charmed, he nodded quickly and stammered, "Whatever you need," and gestured for the two of them to conduct their business.

Not wanting the students' answers to be affected by the presence of their peers, Danny stepped in saying, "We're doin' this the old fashioned way. Everybody out in the hall. We'll talk to you one at a time."

There was a general shuffling and a few muffled exclamations of pleasure that their class was being interrupted in such a way. The students gathered their books and made their way out into the hallway, creating a bottleneck at the door from which a few of the rowdier students gave Lindsay some wolfish looks. Danny heard not a few approving comments, and, annoyed at their obvious interest, barked, "Hurry it up, plebes. Nuts to butts."

A few looked taken aback at the phrase, which brought them back to their often demoralizing days of basic training, and sensing that Danny at least was not about to put up with any crap, they quickly fell into line and made their way out the door. Danny sent the instructor outside the keep the students quiet and make sure that none of them tried to beg out early and avoid talking to them.

"Kids these days," he said with a sheepish grin.

"We're going to have to work on your jealousy issues," teased Lindsay, "Or else my hot bod is going to get you in a lot of trouble."

Danny gave her a pained look. "You're goin' to kill me, Montana. Seriously. I'm going to die."

She just grinned as the first student came into the room.

After interviewing thirty six students, Danny was beginning to regret jumping on the chance to come over to West Point, even if it did mean he got to spend some time with Lindsay.

"I've never had to put up with so many officer wannabes in one day before," he groaned. "It's official. I'm in hell."

"_You're_ in hell," retorted Lindsay. "I've had to listen to the same thirty six statements as you. Only difference is _I _have to contend with their constant leering."

Danny shrugged. "'S a long time between leave…" he said, before waggling his eyebrows.

Lindsay laughed as the next plebe walked into the room. "Cadet Jenkins?" she asked.

The young man, who was pale and anxious, and obviously unnerved that these detectives were intent on questioning him, did not reply.

"IRP, kid," said Danny, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir!" and then, catching himself, "I mean, detective." He turned to Lindsay. "I'm, Cadet Jenkins, ma'am."

Lindsay glanced over at Danny, ignoring the young cadet for a moment to make him squirm. "IRP? What's this? New language, Messer?"

"It means 'immediate response, please'," said Jenkins, before Danny could answer. Realizing he had interrupted he said, "Sorry, sir."

"Stop callin' me 'sir'," said Danny.

Lindsay laughed. "Becoming more and more like Mac every day," and turning to the cadet, "Don't worry about it. At least we know you're willing to answer some questions," she said.

Jenkins let out a breath and relaxed a little, taking the seat Lindsay offered.

"When was the last time you saw First Sergeant Tate?" she asked.

"Um, couple of weeks ago. Here in class."

"Anything unusual happen?" asked Danny.

Jenkins paused. "No, not really."

Lindsay looked up from the papers in front of her. "You sure about that?"

"Yes? Yes."

"You're lyin'" said Danny bluntly.

"No, no! I'm not lying, I swear," said the cadet. "It wasn't unusual. Not really."

"Why don't you tell us anyway so we can judge for ourselves," suggested Lindsay, trying to calm the young man down.

Danny just crossed his impressive arms and sat back, glaring stonily at the young man, who gulped before answering.

"Well, he kinda…got into it with one of the plebes. Cadet Cooper. He's a turnback who thinks his shit doesn't stink—sorry ma'am," he said, nodding to Lindsay. "He's completely bogus—drove First Sergeant Tate crazy. Even after a bunch of quills, he just sat back, all smug and whatnot, baiting the First Sergeant in class."

"Wait, sorry," said Lindsay. "Turnback?"

"Re-admitted to the academy," said Danny impatiently. "Buncha reports for delinquency. What do you mean by baiting?" this time, addressing the cadet.

"He was disrespectful all the time. Talking in class, poking fun at the First Sergeant to his face, disrupting—hell, one time, he purposely closed all his books and put away his papers as loud as he could and announced he was off to Boodler's! Just like that."

"You know why?" asked Danny.

"I don't know," said Jenkins. "But Cooper was always saying that he was too good to be taught by some NCO."

Danny whistled. "Damn. How come no one else's told us this?"

Jenkins looked down. "No one would dare tattle on their leader," he said, a little bitterly. "I'm kind of a ghost around here, anyway.

Danny gave a sympathetic nod while Lindsay asked, "Is Cooper here today?"

"He should be right outside," said Jenkins. "Want me to send him in?"

"No, we'll let him sweat it out a bit more. He can wait his turn," said Lindsay.

Jenkins turned to leave, but paused before reaching the door. "Listen, I liked Top as much as the next guy, but…I don't know, it just seemed like him being here, teaching us this stuff…seemed like a waste of his talents, you know? I just always thought that him being here was like some kind of punishment, and Cooper…somehow Cooper knew it, too."

**A/N: Sorry guys, but we've reached the end of the chapters that I had already written. You'll have to wait until around Christmas for the next updates. On the bright side, I we're starting to get moving on the intrigue, so hopefully the story will keep chugging a long. **

**On a completely unrelated note, I just want to thank everyone who has reviewed this story, especially those of you who take the time to really tell me the good and bad points of each chapter. I never dreamed that I'd ever write a story that received more than 100 reviews within the first twelve chapters. You guys rock!**

**A/N2: Nope, not an update. Just realized that First Sergeant Tate became Sergeant Major over the course of the chapter. Since I'm pretty sure one must be at least a First Sergeant to become an instructor at West Point, I stuck with that.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

An hour later, Danny and Lindsay had interviewed the whole class, and no one had corroborated Cadet Jenkins' observation of the rivalry between Tate and Cadet Cooper. Neither one of them was surprised. They waited until the next-to-last cadet had been questioned before calling the Cooper in.

The tall young man looked about twenty one, with close-cropped dark hair and handsome features screwed up in a sneer. He raked his gaze over Lindsay, a slight smile pulling at his lips, his eyebrows raised almost ironically. "Well, hello Detective," he said, completely ignoring Danny, who hadn't missed the young man's arrogant display.

Danny approached the young man's chair, getting in his personal space. Cooper's affected nonchalance was curtailed, as he was unable to stretch out his legs to achieve his dismissive pose due to the pissed off detective standing in front of him. Forced to adopt a more submissive pose, he glared up defiantly at Danny. "What do you want?"

Danny just fixed the young man with an icy stare and let Lindsay respond.

"We want to know about First Sergeant Tate."

"Old guy, crappy instructor, shit-for-brains. Just because they put an NCO in an officer's job doesn't make him qualified to teach us."

Lindsay asked, "Was there something specific that made you think he was incompetent?"

Cooper shrugged. "Look, as an instructor, he didn't know jack about the stuff he was teaching. He read notes—which he got from last year's instructor—off the projector verbatim, passed off the grading of all our tests and papers to an assistant, and was never available for consultation outside of class. The other plebes don't know the difference, but I've been through this stuff before. I know when the instructor's just going through the motions."

"Sounds like your beef with First Sergeant Tate was more personal than that," observed Danny. "You don't exactly look like the type to be broken up over one lazy instructor."

Cooper glared at Danny. "So what? If I've got a problem with it, it's my business, isn't it?"

Danny raised an eyebrow. "It stopped bein' just _your_ business and became _our_ business when his body and a young woman's were found in Central Park a few nights ago."

Lindsay noticed that Cooper looked surprised, but surmised that he could very well be acting.

"Young woman…" he mumbled. "Who—" he paused, wetting his lip. "Who was it?"

Danny and Lindsay paused, looking to each other and then back at the cadet. Danny said, "Jessica Fields, a student over at NYU."

The cadet paled and clenched his fingers together. "Jess…no…" His voice hardened. "That son of a bitch. He was fucking my girlfriend. I knew it. I saw them together one night. I was on leave, going to surprise her, and he was there with her, on campus. She said that he was consulting for her research, but come on. I was going to break up with her, but she's a hot older woman—what do you want me to do?" He sneered. "Warm body for when I was on leave. And besides, she said that she would never see him again. She promised." He looked the two detectives in the eye. "She lied."

"So what," said Danny, "You caught 'em together and decided that she'd never cheat on you again? That the 'mere NCO' would get what was comin' to him?"

"No!" said Cooper, a glimmer of panic in his eyes. "I didn't kill them, I swear!"

"That's what they all say. How'd the two of them meet?" asked Danny.

"How the hell should I know?" replied Cooper. "Jess could have been the guy's daughter, for God's sake; he was so much older."

"When you saw them together on campus, what were they doing?"

"They were near the biochem labs. Jess is always around there, so that's how I knew where to look. She even has a key, she's there so often, and her profs think she's wonder woman. She was leaving the lab, locking up, and First Sergeant Tate was standing there with some huge yellow case in his hand. I got pissed off, seeing them together, so I split."

"You got pissed off because two people were standing together in a university building?" asked Danny. "Jealous much?"

"What was I supposed to think? Why else would my instructor—who hated my guts, by the way—be with my girlfriend? He was screwing her to push my buttons," said Cooper dismissively. I wasn't going to play into his hands."

"Come on," said Lindsay. "You want us to believe that you watched your girlfriend cheat on you with your instructor, and just went home and cried into your pillow."

"I don't cry," said the cadet, stony-faced. "I came back here and told Tate that I would let everyone know what he'd done. I'd report him to his supervisor, spread the word on campus that he was cheating on his wife or whatever. Ruin his reputation. He told me to keep it quiet, and he'd make sure that I passed his class with flying colours."

"What about all those quills?" asked Danny.

"Hey, those were from before I found out about him and Jess. Made sure that he knew not to give me any more."

"So you blackmailed your instructor, but you drew the line at killin' him, right?" asked Danny.

"Yeah, that's right," said Cooper, as if daring them to contradict him.

"Not buyin' it," replied Danny.

"Too bad you've got nothing to arrest me for," Cooper shot back. "Yeah, I know how you guys work. All bluster and whatever, with nothing to back it up. I know a guy who knows a guy who knows the governor. I could have you brought up on charges for harassment, if you don't leave me alone." He leaned back in his chair, smiling smugly. "You've got to have evidence that links me to the crime, which I know you don't have, because _I wasn't there_."

"Don't be so sure about that," said Lindsay. "We'll find the evidence." She stood, collecting her papers and heading for the door, Danny trailing slightly behind. "Don't leave the jurisdiction," she said.

As soon as she exited the room, Danny paused. "By the way. I know a guy who knows a guy who knows the_ president_. If I asked, I could have you outta here before your governor wakes up tomorrow morning. Keep your nose clean, or I'll make sure you'll never make better than a corporal. Have a nice day," he said, leaving the shaken cadet behind.

Lindsay was waiting for him outside the door. "I like the arrogant jerk for this one," she said.

Danny laughed. "Yeah, Cooper's definitely a viable suspect."

"But you're not convinced."

"Hell, no," agreed Danny. "Those murders seems too cold, too professional for some punk-ass cadet to pull off. And there's no way he could get the better of Jimmy."

"Maybe if he had help," suggested Lindsay.

"He'd need to have help from a pro, then. Someone with access to the equipment. There's no way Cooper could have gotten hold of an M4 carbine and an M-203 around here. And flechettes are not exactly standard military issue.

"So what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinkin' that the choice of weapons was more than pickin' up what was handy, or even what was comfortable. I think it was a message—for me. Question is, what does it mean?"

**A/N: Score one for procrastination. Wrote this up while I was supposed to be studying for linguistics. Think of it as an early Christmas gift…of holiday gift depending on your views. Hope you all liked this one—if you did you can leave a review as your Christmas gift to me!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Since it's been awhile, here's a little synopsis of the plot so far:**

**Danny and Lindsay are working a case in which a military man and a student at NYU are found murdered in Central Park. The case brings back memories for Danny, as he knew one of the victims from his time in the military, which only Mac knew about. The clues don't add up—Danny's old acquaintance seems to have had a number of identities and quite a few enemies. Added to his mind is the weight of Lindsay's desire to be included among the few who know about his past. His hesitance to share the details of his army days causes a rift between the two CSIs, but they manage to work together despite their differences, while they interview persons of interest at both Fort Drum and West Point. Danny and Lindsay are leaving West Point with information regarding a possible new suspect when this chapter begins.**

**Chapter 14**

It was growing dark when Danny and Lindsay finally made their way back into the city. The ride had been silent, but it was no longer the awkward, frigid silence of quarrelling lovers. Rather, it was the pensive silence that exists between two people puzzling over a problem.

"I'm tired," said Lindsay, her voice penetrating the darkness. "Tired of this case, tired of fighting with you, just plain _tired_." She sighed. "A plane ride is not exactly on my top ten list of things to do tonight.

"You have a list?" asked Danny, as usual trying to lighten her mood. "Am I on it? Because I definitely think I should be one of your top ten 'things to do'," he said with a grin.

Lindsay narrowed her eyes, but couldn't keep the smile from her lips any more than she could keep it from appearing in her voice, or adding a sparkle to her eyes. "I'm still mad at you. You'd be lucky to make the top twenty, cowboy."

Danny laughed. "I'm hurt, Montana. Very hurt."

Lindsay rolled here eyes and laughed as well. "God, you make it hard to remember why I'm angry in the first place." She gave him a sultry, sidelong glance. "Besides, just because you're in my top twenty doesn't preclude your inclusion in the top ten…or top five for that matter."

"I knew it!" Danny crowed. "I'm number one!"

Lindsay snorted. "A bit full of yourself aren't you?"

"Nah, but you could be…"

"Danny!" Lindsay admonished. "Down boy!" She laughed before saying a moment later, "Tied for second. No man comes between a girl and her chocolate."

They pulled up to the crime lab, both feeling a little more light-hearted. They made their way to the lab, Danny's hand creeping up to take residence on its accustomed place in the small of Lindsay's back. He smiled when she didn't pull away. In fact, he thought he detected a small, tender smile play across her lips, if only for a moment.

The two of them made their way to the lab and into their shared office. They put away the things they wouldn't need for their trip and tidied their desks. Neither of them knew how long they'd be gone, and since they were both orderly by nature, it didn't take them long to put their affairs in their proper places. Before they finished, Mac dropped by their office.

"You guys heading out?" he asked.

"Yeah, in a few minutes," said Danny. "Just finishin' up here."

"Get anything at West Point?"

"Aside from catcalls and lewd glances, you mean?" asked Lindsay. She rolled her eyes and shook her head in exasperation before continuing. "We have one cadet who seems to hold a grudge against our vic. And he's a jackass, come to that."

"Is that your professional opinion or a personal one?" asked Mac wryly. "I'll have Flack check this guy out while you're gone."

"Matthew Cooper. Here's his academic record. Haven't had time to run him yet," added Danny, handing Mac a rather thick file. "Bit of a trouble-maker, as you can see."

"I'll take care of it," said Mac. "Sid's having another look at the body," he added, almost as an afterthought. "Running a few scans for scientific purposes. Just thought I'd let you know—no surprises, and all that. I'll call you if anything comes of it. Now, you two had better get going if you want to catch your flight." He smiled. "Don't be late. I've heard some horrible things about tardy soldiers under Colonel Ames."

"Damn right," groaned Danny. "I wouldn't put it past him to have Rudy at the guardhouse shoot me on sight." He shuddered. "And Rudy's a damn good shot. Let's get goin' Montana. See ya later, Mac."

As they made their way toward their office and their luggage, Lindsay smiled impishly. "This Ames sounds like my kind of guy," she said. "Punctuality is damn sexy in a man." 

"Don't even joke, Montana," said Danny. "Don't even joke."

He heaved his duffel bag onto his shoulder and picked up Lindsay's small suitcase while she went ahead. "I love a woman who can travel light," he mumbled, thankful. The two detectives left the office, and a short elevator ride and a brisk walk through reception, they made it out to the street and their waiting cab. Danny loaded their bags and got in, directing the cabbie to take them to the airport.

JFK was surprisingly tame compared to the usual frenzied crowd of everyday travellers, businesspeople, and tourists who populated the airport during normal business hours. A fair number of people still bustled around, but it did not compare the rush of people earlier in the day. The two detectives did not have long to wait before their flight to the Douglas International airport in North Carolina began boarding.

The two quickly found their seats. Danny stowed their carry-on luggage before moving out of the way, allowing her the window seat, if she wanted.

"I've seen my share of moonlit cities from thirty-nine thousand feet. I'm thinkin' you could use a pick-me-up, and a view like that…" he gave a short whistle, "a view like that puts everythin' in perspective."

She smiled and accepted his offer without comment, but once again his words stuck in her mind. Danny had intimated that he was a pencil-pusher in his army days—one who had no need to travel around the world on dangerous missions—but travelling was obviously commonplace to him. She sat back in her seat and wondered—not for the first time—what the hell she was doing (at thirty-nine thousand feet, according to Danny) on a plane to North Carolina at one a.m. And this with a man she was beginning to learn was nothing like she'd thought he was.

He was not like Mac, she decided. Not a man whose posture and diction and manner practically screamed military. Mac, who was by-the-book, follow-the-evidence. Mac, who was duty and honour and order. She could picture him in a tidy uniform, every hair in place, nodding smartly at his superior before meticulously following his orders to the nth degree.

Danny on the other hand...she would never peg him for a military man. He was all passion and ego, tough talk and raw edges. He regularly thumbed his nose at authority—couldn't take orders worth a damn—broke the rules when he didn't outright ignore them, antagonized even the people who _liked _him…

And a _desk _job. She couldn't begin to imagine Danny—who was always energetic, full or motion, full of _action—_sitting behind a desk wearing a neat little uniform and figuring out where to send the next batch of grenades, or trucks, or freeze-dried meals, or God knows what.

But even that she could dismiss. Maybe all that boredom and suppression in the army made him a loose cannon when he left. Maybe he had changed as a result of his experiences. That wasn't so difficult to believe, and she _desperately_ wanted to believe it. At least then it didn't make her feel as if he had deliberately chosen not to tell her about his past because he didn't care about her enough. At least then, she could ascribe his secrecy to indifference about his past and not indifference to _her_.

What she was really having a hard time with was how he'd never told her anything, how even now, he refused to share the details of his life with her. He claimed to love her—something she'd known long before he had professed it in his own Danny-like way—and she…she'd responded in kind. But now, while Danny dozed fitfully beside her, when she finally had a chance to sit and think—really _think_—about what had happened these last few days, now she wondered if she could truly love someone she barely knew. For all her confidence to his face, she still wondered…but of course it was unthinkable to voice her doubts at that moment, when he was so vulnerable, so exposed, so desperate with that mixture of hope and fear and love in his clear blue eyes. Unthinkable to let him believe that she doubted him like he doubted himself.

But so much of his past, so much of what made him who he was, was unknown to her. And that was what scared her.

She glanced over to see him dozing fitfully in his seat, the thin airplane blanket and lumpy pillow obviously woefully inadequate in facilitating real sleep. His glasses were nowhere to be found; he had obviously taken them off and stowed them away so he could rest. He looked so young and guileless without his glasses. They leant a certain air of credibility to his face—more like a scientist, less like a cop; more like an academic, less like a pretty-boy. She smiled as he grunted endearingly and sought a more comfortable position, active even in his sleep.

He popped an eye open and regarded her blearily as she watched him. His lips twitched into a smirk and wrapped an arm around her, placing her head on his shoulder. "Come 'ere, Montana," he said. "I can practically hear the gears turnin' in your head. It's almost deafening. You need to get some rest. I'll wake you before we land."

It was then, in Danny's warm embrace, when she felt safe and comfortable and loved, when nothing around her was familiar but the way he held her close, it was then that she realized that whatever he'd done in his past didn't matter to her. She loved him anyway.

How could she not when every part of her screamed that home was wherever he was?

**A/N: Sorry guys. Life got in the way. But, no excuses. I should be back to my regular updating schedule barring anymore fatal viruses and whatnot. Enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"Montana. Montana, wake up."

Lindsay opened her eyes regretfully, blinking a few times before sitting up straighter and impatiently pushing her hair out of her face. "What time is it?" she asked.

"Early," said Danny.

Lindsay rolled her eyes. She had slept through the short flight from the international airport in Charlotte to the regional Fayetteville airport, but still did not feel refreshed, so she sat quietly sipping a strong cup of coffee while Danny rented a car.

As soon as they were able, they were on the road. Danny was behind the wheel, while Lindsay tried to stay awake in the passenger seat. The lack of sleep during the past few days was catching up with her, and she was crashing hard.

Danny, seeing his girlfriend nodding off only to wake up suddenly, shaking her head abruptly as if to rid it of cobwebs, said, "Why don't you catch some z's? We've got a ways to go yet."

He had barely finished his sentence when he glanced over to see that she was sound asleep.

When they arrived at Fort Bragg, Danny shook her awake as gently as he could. "C'mon, Montana. Where almost at the gate." He stopped the car and rolled down the window, grinning as he waited for someone to approach them and ask for their IDs.

"Well, well, well. Still here, eh Rudy?" said Danny to the tall, straight-backed man who stepped out of the guardhouse.

The man gave no appearance of having heard, much less of any recognition for a man he had supposedly seen every day for four years. "Sir, I'll need to see your identification and visitors' passes before you enter the restricted area of the base."

"Come on, Rudy, you know me…" said Danny, but he handed over the requested items anyway, not really expecting the other man to reply, but dutifully playing the game he had played five years ago, falling back into old habits.

"Thank you, sir," said Rudy, and he turned away to swipe their IDs through a scanner and type a few things at his computer before turning back to them and returning their identification along with two visitors' passes with their drivers licence photos and emblazoned with letters denoting the zones that they could enter without being arrested for trespassing. Lindsay, wiping the sleep out of her eyes, noted wryly that Danny's pass had a hell of a lot more letters than hers.

Danny was about to move forward when Rudy said, "A moment, sir." He unlocked a small cabinet, reached into a file, and pulled out another card. "Heard what you're here for, sir. Thought this might help."

Danny took the military ID from the guard. It still held his old service photo, but carried a new date, a new SmartID chip, and some other features that hadn't been in use five years ago. "Thanks, man. I appreciate it," he said.

Rudy just nodded and said, "The visitors' passes will allow you into the main building only." He paused. "But if the staff sergeant would like to put his skills to the test…the military ID is good for the shooting house."

"Thanks, Rudy. I owe you one."

"Don't mention it, sir. Have a good 'un."

Danny inclined his head in reply. "Have a good 'un."

Rudy opened the gate and motioned them through. Danny advanced and steered the car toward visitor parking at the main building.

Lindsay noticed that this area of the base was surrounded by high barbed-wire fences plastered with signs reading "Restricted Area" and "No Trespassing". More guards like Rudy—armed and steely-eyed—patrolled the area at regular intervals. "Logistics, my ass," she mumbled.

If Danny heard her, he gave no sign. He led her to the main door, opening it for her before following her inside. The air inside was odourless to the common nose, but for one who was familiar with the building, the smell of gunpowder, metal, and the lingering odour of airplane exhaust from when the building served as a hangar permeated the air. They all brought back memories for Danny of a different life, and he almost staggered under the weight of it all. He paused, remembering, while Lindsay looked on, baffled as to what had affected him.

The place looked like nothing more than an office building, right down to the tidy waiting area with all the modern comforts and the receptionist sitting behind the desk. Granted the receptionist was dressed in a combat uniform and looked as if he could bench press her without breaking a sweat, and the waiting area had an air of sternness about it that could not be completely masked by the moderately expensive furnishings, but still, nothing to deserve a guardhouse and armed gorillas patrolling the gates. Before she could comment on the strange sight, a large, stocky man came to greet them.

"You're three minutes early. Cutting it close there, Messer," he said. His accent was noticeable southern, and his words were pronounced with the kind of slow southern drawl that always seemed to Lindsay to hide some kind of joke. The man paced toward Danny with the coiled grace of a man who lived his life by extreme standards of physical fitness. Advancing age had softened some of the muscles, loosened some of the skin, and added not a few pounds around the middle, but he still seemed fit for his age, which Lindsay placed at around sixty. He was not tall, contributing to his corpulent appearance, but the way in which he carried himself commanded attention and respect from all quarters. His gaze was severe for a few minutes while he regarded Danny before he broke into a wide smile and slapped the younger man heartily on the shoulder. "Good to have you back," he said.

"Thank you, sir," replied Danny. "I wish it could be under better circumstances." He gestured for Lindsay to approach, wrapping an arm loosely around her waist in a gesture of reassurance as she came to stand beside him. "This is my girlfriend and partner, Detective Lindsay Monroe. Linds, this is Colonel Frank Ames."

"Pleased to meet you," said Lindsay with a warm smile, shaking the colonel's hand.

"Likewise," said Ames, glancing meaningfully at Danny before returning his attention to Lindsay. "So you're the one who finally caught Messer's eye, eh?" She could hear the doubt in his voice, but was still slightly taken aback when he said bluntly, "You're not at all what I expected."

The moment Ames had walked in, Lindsay could practically feel him examine her as if she were a specimen, take her measure and, she was almost sure she had been found lacking. Now her suspicions were confirmed. She fought to keep her shoulders from sagging. But she was damned if she would let this man, who had known her for all of thirty seconds, judge her and find her lacking. She felt Danny tense beside her, ready to retort, but she placed a hand on his arm, signalling him that she could handle this on her own.

So she steeled herself, straightened her spine, and said, "I can't say that I'd peg you for a military man, so I guess we're even." She strove to keep her voice light, but there was an undertone, she knew, which brooked no argument. She caught Danny trying (unsuccessfully) to hide a grin, and was gratified to see Ames' lips quirk.

Ames was too familiar with subtle threats and political jockeying from individuals far more intimidating than she to react spectacularly to a woman's veiled insults, but the girl had pluck, and he had to admire her for that. "There's more than one kind of soldier," he replied, amused.

"There's more than one kind of woman."

At this, the colonel's lips stretched into a full-fledged smile. "Perhaps I misjudged you," he said, before laughing heartily. "This one'll keep you on your toes," he said to Danny."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," the young CSI replied.

Ames nodded in agreement. "Come on," he said, "Let's get this shit over with."

The two detectives followed the man through a door and down a wide corridor, passing busy-looking men and women in the same combat uniform as the receptionist. Lindsay noticed that they all wore desert-brown clothing devoid of any names or insignia. Strange…

They arrived at Colonel Ames' well-appointed office, and he bade them to sit in the two uncomfortable-looking chairs on one side of his large oak desk. He closed the door, drawing the blinds closed before taking his own seat behind the desk. "Let's get the paperwork out of the way so we can get down to business," he said.

He unlocked his desk and pulled out a sizeable stack of papers, placing them on the desk in front of Lindsay before proffering her a pen. "Read 'em, sign 'em, don't forget 'em." He directed his piercing gaze into Lindsay's eyes. "Ever."

He turned to Danny with a much smaller stack. "You know the drill."

Danny nodded, briefly skimming the familiar pages before signing them and handing them to Ames.

"I'll leave you and Miss Monroe to finish the rest," he said, taking Danny's papers and leaving the room.

"Where the hell do I sign?" asked Lindsay, flipping through at least sixty pages of forms and legal jargon.

"No, no," said Danny. "You gotta read it. All of it." His gaze was serious. "This isn't some form you sign and just forget about," he said gravely. "If you violate the conditions in here, you could go to prison."

"Prison?" asked Lindsay, surprised. "For what?"

Danny's face was entirely serious. "Treason."

**A/N: So here's where "suspend your disbelief" comes into play even more. This kind of stuff is totally from my imagination—they sure don't have the protocols for this stuff posted on Wikipedia! I'm just having fun with this idea, so I'm not exactly going for true blue realism. Hope you guys like it anyway.**

**Anyway, I know it's been forever since I updated. It's been driving me nuts, too, since I have quite a few chapters waiting to be edited and uploaded. But unfortunately, after getting my computer in shape after the last virus, I got another one, got fed up with Windows, ill-advisedly (and unsuccessfully) attempted to install Linux, and spent a week without an OS before finally reloading Windows. Add to that the fact that the U seems to think that my idea of a perfect Sunday involves scrambling to write four different assignments…well, I've been remiss. Hopefully you all remember what's going on in the story. If you don't, check out the previous chapter where I posted a short summary of the plot so far at the top. Hope you enjoy this one!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"Treason?" gasped Lindsay. "What the hell is this place?"

She was sitting in a normal chair, in a normal office, in a normal building. Maybe it _was_ behind a decidedly abnormal barbed wire fence with an abnormal amount of guards patrolling the area, but still, her mind couldn't seem to reconcile the seemingly harmless surroundings inside with the sense of danger and secrecy of the outside.

At her slightly panicked look, Danny sighed tiredly. "Just sign the papers, Montana. We'll explain everythin' when you're done.

So Lindsay began reading through the forms, growing more and more alarmed at each page. The secrecy of this place was incredible, she thought, and once again she questioned what Danny really did when he was here. It was becoming more and more apparent that her intuition had been correct in assuming that Danny's military stint involved more than just a desk job figuring out how many tubes of toothpaste to send to the troops. She began to seriously consider the implications of all this cloak and dagger stuff, completely forgetting about adding her signature to the pages, before Danny tapped her page with a pen to get her attention.

"I know what you're thinkin'," he said. "And I know you're curious as hell right now, and that the last thing you wanna do is sign a buncha legal papers, but trust me, we'll get to the explanations soon enough." His eye took on that earnest, slightly desperate look that she couldn't say no to before he said quietly, "I promise."

He didn't look particularly happy about the idea. In fact, he looked almost as nervous as she. She knew that he was worried that she would change her mind about them because of his past, but she wasn't sure how she could make him see that she was in this for the long haul. So she looked back to her papers. After a few moments, she couldn't take it any longer. She lifted her eyes, looking up to him and saying, "It doesn't matter to me, you know."

Danny met her gaze with his tortured one. He did not have to ask what she was talking about. The topic had been prominent in his mind since the day the bodies were found. It was killing him not knowing what was going on in her head, and he was almost glad that now he'd know what she was thinking, whether he wanted to or not. "You sure about that?" he asked, almost bitterly, almost hopeful.

She put her pen down and placed a comforting hand on his arm. "I wasn't a couple of hours ago," she said bluntly. But she wanted to make him see just how hard it was for her to get to the mental state that she was at now, so she opted for the direct approach.

Danny winced, as if he had expected this, but had hoped against hope that it wouldn't happen.

Lindsay was quick to continue. "A couple of hours ago I was tired and not thinking straight and the only thing I could think of was that you didn't love me enough to tell me your secrets."

Danny opened his mouth as if to reply, but Lindsay didn't let him. "And if I still had my doubts, reading these papers, they've convinced me that you really couldn't tell me, even if you wanted to."

"Which I did," Danny interjected.

Lindsay ignored him and continued. "But I realised on the plane that that wasn't important. All this stuff…it's your past. It made you who you are, yes, but it doesn't define who you've become." She smiled, slightly sheepish. "The heart wants what it wants, Danny, and my heart wants you."

While she spoke, she had drawn closer until she clasped both of his hands with her own. She looked at their hands, intertwined, caught a glimpse of her future. Their hands were older, their fingers stiffer, but Danny's hands were still large and strong, and knew exactly how to comfort her when she needed him.

Danny was silent for a moment, and Lindsay watched as a wave of emotions played across his face. "I love you, Montana. More than anything," he said earnestly. "There'll always be secrets, and I'm sorry for that, but I'll make sure that they don't affect us."

He spoke so resolutely that she didn't have to heart to tell him that they already had. "I believe you," she said simply, and went back to her papers.

When she had finally read, signed, and dated the last page, her head was spinning. She arranged the papers in a neat pile and capped the pen, placing it on top automatically, without realising what she was doing. She took a deep breath to calm her rapidly beating heart when she heard the door open before it quietly snicked shut.

Colonel Ames had re-entered the room just as she finished, as if he was watching them all along and waiting for her to sign the last page. He flipped quickly through the papers before asking what he already seemed to know. "You read them all? Signed everything?"

"Yes," she answered, but he didn't take her word for it. He pulled reading glasses out of his pocket and placed the on his nose, looking at every page. The glasses made him look like a kindly grandfather reading the newspaper, not a career military man for whom intimidation and violence was a way of life.

Ames made sure she signed in the appropriate pages before he initialled next to her signature. When he finished, he locked the pages in his drawer. He pulled a page out of a filing cabinet and began reading it aloud, his voice serious and his posture ram-rod straight. "Miss Monroe, you will be receiving the standard explanation regarding the existence and operation of the 303rd Logistical Studies Group given to wives and significant others of unit members. Due to your status as an investigating officer in the murder of James Manelli, you will be privy to details about unit operations that may exceed the scope of this standard explanation and the papers that you have signed." He paused to let this sink in before continuing with his script. "Should you choose to share any of the information disclosed or relay details of operations beyond the restricted section of the base, you will be prosecuted for treason against the United States of America. Do you understand?"

Lindsay looked uneasily to Danny, but received no comforting glance. He sat in his chair straight and tall, looked resolutely forward, and had no expression beyond his face. Lindsay thought that she had never seen him look so cold, and answered a bit tremulously. "Yes."

Ames continued. "I understand that you are obligated to disclose the pertinent details of the case by law, which is why you will submit your reports to me for approval before you leave. If necessary, the reports will be sanitized by the Department of Defence and signed by the President of the United States. If you do not agree to these terms, you will leave the premises immediately, bound by the conditions in the contract that you signed effective immediately."

Again, he waited a moment, as if to give them time to think it over and decide whether it was worth it to stir up this particular hornet's nest.

When neither Danny nor Lindsay moved, he removed the reading glasses perched on his nose and shredded the paper he had been reading from. "All right, then. Let's begin."

**A/N: And so it begins. We're getting closer to finding out just what the hell Danny was doing in the military—and how he managed to survive his tour without mouthing off to his superiors! This chapter was intended to build up some suspense and tension about Danny's past while calming a bit of the tension between him and Lindsay. I sure hope it worked! But I'm not too enthused about this chapter, anyway. I just want to get to the next few chapters when we get back to the case!**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Sid Hammerback would be the first to admit that he was a pretty weird guy. But he worked with dead bodies day in and day out, so he figured he deserved to indulge in a few of his eccentricities from time to time.

Which is why he could be found at the morgue during his lunch hour testing the bodies on his autopsy tables for rare cell mutations.

The testing, while not exactly ordered, was not illegal either, and he cheerfully exploited the grey areas in the regulations to allow for scientific research. He wrote off the tests as necessary to conclude cause of death, and, aside from a few raised eyebrows on occasion, never received any complaints.

He decided on cell mutations that day because of a small mole on the male victim's arm. It hardly looked suspicious, but small things often inspired Sid, and he knew not to go against his gut when it came to his medical muse.

He set up his materials efficiently and donned the necessary protective gear. He was nothing but cautious in his extramural endeavours, a fact that allowed his superiors to overlook his requisitioning of lab equipment and materials. That and the fact that some of his findings had been published in some very highly regarded journals that gave something of a boost to the lab's reputation, which never hurt when it came time for funding proposals.

The first few tests conducted were disappointing only in their regularity. Nothing abnormal at all, for which, Sid reasoned, he should probably be grateful. After all, it made his job a little bit easier, a little cleaner, a little more cut and dry, which juries always liked.

He decided to run one last test. A long shot, he knew, but he was nothing if not thorough. He drew another sample and ran the test, disappointed but with his interest slightly piqued when it came out inconclusive. He decided to run it again, but before he did, he noticed something unusual.

He grew slightly confused. This was something he'd never seen before. "What the heck…"

"He grabbed an assistant by the arm and pointed at the bodies. "No one touches those but me. Lock down the morgue. I need some time to figure out just what is going on here."

He quickly reached for a mask and gloves to continue his examination. As he drew a tissue sample, his hands shook.

Lindsay sat nervously in Colonel Ames' office. After practically—no, literally—signing her life away she wondered, not for the first time, whether it would be better not to be privy to the secrets of the 303rd Logistical Studies Group. But she was committed to her job—and to Danny—and she knew that in order to make sense of both, she'd need to consider everything she was about to learn.

And she'd be damned if she gave Colonel Ames a reason to think her unworthy of one of his men.

Ames considered Lindsay carefully before beginning. "The 303rd Logistical Studies Group does not exist," he said calmly. At Lindsay's puzzled frown, he added, "At least, not beyond paper. In fact, it's probably one of the most thorough paper trails in the world with nothing behind it but a building and a few well-planned oversight visits." He smiled slightly. "The 303rd is used only as a cover so that the government can disavow our existence and the special operations soldiers under my command can live on base without potentially endangering the integrity of the unit." He paused, as if waiting for the turmoil in Lindsay's mind to cause a nervous breakdown or a fit of hysterics.

Lindsay did neither. She was shocked—how could she not be?—but she found that she was not surprised. She refused to give Ames the reaction she was sure he wanted and instead sat calmly waiting for him to continue. At least she knew that her estimation of Danny was not that far off. At least she knew why he did not speak of his past.

She was not so naïve that she considered his previous work to be exciting and sexy—although knowing that he was one of the few, the elite, who faced danger without even the dubious protection of being an acknowledged soldier did make her proud—and she knew that his life had been dangerous and probably very lonely because of it. She had so many questions now, swirling in her head, crowding her mouth until she felt both might burst…but she clamped her lips shut and swallowed her questions, allowing Ames to continue with his monologue.

"The unit is responsible for dangerous missions that require the precision, speed, mobility, and expertise of the best the army has to offer. Messer here was one of the best. I can't tell you how many teams or operators or even support staff I have under my command, but I can tell you that every last one of them answers to me, and that I answer directly to the President of the United States." He looked at her gravely. "That should give you some idea of the seriousness of the consequences for breathing a word of this to anyone." He leaned back in his chair. "Now, with that point made abundantly clear, let's talk about Manelli."

Lindsay blinked at the rapidity with which Ames changed the subject. Danny, used to the colonel's moods, was already way ahead of her. "What was he doing in New York?" he asked.

"On the record, he was sent to West Point as an instructor for an introductory war-fighting course. He was supposed to evaluate the real-world practicality of the course with the aim of suggesting possible improvements at a later date."

Danny snorted. "I'm sure he loved that. Stuck in a classroom…ha!" She shook his head. "And off the record?"

Ames answered slowly. "There is some intel that a biological weapon was accidentally created at a lab on the NYU campus. It was brought to West Point for security and research purposes. Three canisters had disappeared."

"Shit," said Danny.

"Shit a 42 pound brick down the bottom of a badly patched canoe," said Ames. "This isn't your run-of-the-mill biological weapon that spells doom and gloom for the eastern seaboard. This is much, much worse."

"Just what are we dealing with, exactly," asked Lindsay.

"That's the scary part," said Ames. "We don't really know."

**A/N: Aha! The plot thickens. A bio weapon potentially on the loose always ruins somebody's day, doesn't it?.**

**So, we finally know the whole story. Danny was an operator in some pretty dangerous stuff. More on that in later chapters.**

**Well, that's it for me. I posted between the mountains of homework waiting for me, so luckily I have the next few chapters all typed and ready to go.**

**Enjoy!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Sid Hammerback was not accustomed to running around the lab feeling like a human version of Chicken Little. Bit the sky was falling and he was going to make sure somebody did something about it, even if he did look like a fool in the process. He met Mac Taylor on the way to the man's office.

Mac took one look at the coroner's face and knew that whatever had convinced the older man to abandon his sanctum in the morgue was serious. He wasted no time with pleasantries. "What's going on, Sid?"

The other man paused to catch his breath before saying, still a bit breathlessly, "The bodies…were injected with a foreign substance prior to TOD."

Mac raised an eyebrow enquiringly. "How come you didn't notice it before?"

"In case you didn't notice, those bodies were practically ground beef from the chest down. Puncture wounds would be practically impossible to find unless you are deliberately looking for them," he snapped.

Mac nodded gravely. "What were they injected with?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"I'm not sure," said Sid. "A mutagen of some kind. I've never seen it before. It was administered by injection to the thigh. Whatever it is, it ran its course," he added quickly. "The agent that caused it is not contagious, as far as I can tell."

"Can you be sure?"

"Nothing is ever one hundred percent, but in my expert medical opinion, the mutation can not be spread by contact. It was found in both victims and caused an almost identical result. It affected the cells, causing them to multiply at a hugely accelerated rate. It resulted in the swelling of tissue of the entire body, gradually choking off blood flow to major organs. With the increased number of blood cells, the veins and arteries would have burst from the pressure. The mutation probably would have taken almost a week to kill the victims, who would have been in agony. I hate to say this, but they were almost lucky that those flechettes got them before the mutation did."

"Can you isolate the cause?" asked Mac.

"I can try," said Sid. "But due to the nature of the mutagen, I don't think that there will be much left to work with."

"Do what you can," said Mac. "I think it's time I had a chat with out two globetrotting CSIs."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" asked Danny. "Are you sayin' we could have some biological weapon floatin' around New York?"

"It's not weaponized," said Ames. "That much we do know."

"But it has the potential to be?" asked Lindsay, astutely guessing what Ames wasn't saying.

"We think so. The student who stumbled across it, Jessica Fields, was sure of it. But you told me she's dead."

Danny nodded.

"She was the only one who knew enough about it to make any sort of progress on that front with any immediacy. It would take someone unfamiliar with it a bit more time."

"How much more?" asked Danny.

"A week. Maybe less. Plus time to research feasibility as a weapon."

"Shit."

"Yeah. We were keeping an eye on one of the terrorist cells in New York, thinking they'd be interested, but they haven't so much as blinked since the stuff was transferred. Right now, we're re-evaluating," said Ames.

"Just how bad is this thing?" asked Lindsay.

"That's what's scary. Incubation time's about a week. No symptoms until then. If someone found a way to make it contagious, half the country would be infected before the first victim got symptoms. Probably ten days before the CDC gets their act together once that happens…"

"And by then, most of the victims would be dead or dying, with everybody else already infected," said Danny.

Ames looked grim. "Stuff like that can't be left in a civilian facility. The bitch of it is, we're the one's who put it there in the first place."

"What?" asked Danny.

"If we'd brought it in, it would be subject to oversight…situations that can't be explained, questions that can't be answered," said Ames. "It would be a mess. We had to do this another way."

"I thought you said it was discovered by accident," said Lindsay suspiciously.

"Technically it was."

"Why do I get the feeling that there was some prodding on your part to being about this 'accident'?" asked Danny.

Ames looked unrepentant. "Probably because there was. A few years ago, I sent a team to an unfriendly country to sample and destroy some worrisome substances that could be used to threaten American lives. They came back with samples of four chemicals that were grouped together in a special containment room. We wanted to know what those chemicals were and what their purpose was. We sent them to NYU specifically because of Fields."

"Why her?" asked Danny.

"She was a genius, for one," said Ames. "Unlikely to garner too much attention because of the school, minimal flight risk…Plus, she was the niece of one of our unit members."

"What? Who?" asked Danny, surprised.

"Who else?" replied Ames blandly. "Jim Manelli."

Before anyone could frame a response to that, Danny's cell phone rang. "Messer," he answered.

"Danny, it's Mac. We've got a new development in the case," said the older detective.

At Lindsay's questioning glance, he mouthed "Mac," before asking, "Whaddaya got?"

"A potential epidemic," said Mac, never one to mince words. He quickly relayed Sid's findings before asking, "Have you found out anything helpful?"

"Right now, you know as much as I do," said Danny carefully. "I'll let you know when we get somethin' new." 

The two exchanged goodbyes and hung up. Danny let out a breath. "Well, the cat's outta the bag on the mutagen."

Ames cursed under his breath. "How the hell did that happen?"

"Inquisitive M.E.," said Danny with a shrug.

"Great."

"Even more reason to give me some specifics. Where and when did you steal the stuff?"

Ames paused, weighing the merits of telling the two detectives what they wanted to know. "It was seven years ago. In Afghanistan," he said slowly.

Comprehension dawned on Danny's face. "You mean…"

"Yes, Danny. You stole it."

**A/N: Oooh. The plot thickens again. Now we're getting to the meat and potatoes. Hope you liked this chapter. **

**And for all you people who have "study/reading/slack week" this week, have fun and be good! (And the whole if you can't be good, be careful, if you can't be careful, name it after me thing!) Bye!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

"Wait a minute. _You _stole the mutagen, Danny?"

Lindsay was completely taken aback. How could this have happened? But she forced herself to stay calm. She could tell by the look on his face that Danny already blamed himself. If he thought even for a second that she blamed him too…it would destroy him.

"It wasn't a mutagen then," said Ames quickly. "Just a bunch of chemicals. Potentially dangerous, but we didn't know that. Not for sure. Not just then."

Danny had yet to speak. He was lost in his memories, back in Afghanistan five years before…

_ flashback _

_Five men squatted inside the cargo plane, approaching their target. It was pitch black outside, what the soldiers stationed in Afghanistan called "boogie dark". The clouds covered the starts and the moon in a shroud of mist. _

_The men didn't care. In fact, it made their job a little easier._

_They were all quiet, breathing into pure oxygen masks in preparation for their jump and performing last-minute checks on their gear. One faulty carabiner meant death from 35,000 feet._

_Danny made sure his ALICE pack was on securely. He waited for a signal from Uncle Moe, the team leader, before switching from on-board oxygen to his tank, careful not to breathe the regular air. No one in the unit had ever died from hypoxia, and he didn't aim to be the first. They knew better, and so did he._

_When they were three minutes away from the drop zone, the team began to get into position. The back of the plane opened and the team members began jumping out one at a time, each knowing exactly how long to wait between jumps, each performing them with the practiced ease of men who had done the same a hundred times. It was a highly choreographed ballet by then, and Danny, the last to jump, had the privilege to watch as each man was sucked out of the plane. It was too dark for him to observe them beyond the initial leap, but he could see exactly what each man was doing in his mind's eye, the movements repeated in training so many times that they became almost second nature._

_Before he knew it, he too had jumped out of the plane and began to free fall. He kept his legs pressed tightly together, his arms crossed over his chest like a mummy. He tried to feel excitement, adrenaline, hell, even slight interest, but couldn't. "Free-falling from a plane. Ho hum," he thought bitterly._

_After a few more seconds, he checked his altimeter. Time to open the parachute. _

_He floated down to the ground gracefully, landing on his feet on the roof of the compound. Bull's eye. Jack Flash had planned the jump well. _

_Danny quickly divested himself of the parachute and jogged stealthily towards the other men on his team. _

_They rendezvoused at the south entrance of the building. Surfer Dave quickly hooked up a digital lock-picker that had them inside in under a minute. The five men moved stealthily down the hall, knowing exactly where they were going and what they were doing._

_A sudden feeling of dread came over Danny. Something bad was coming, he knew. He tightened his grip on his weapon and brought up the rear._

_ /flashback _

Ames saw the faraway look in Danny's eye and knew he was lost in the past. "Why don't you two head on out," he said quietly. "Get some rest. You can come back tomorrow, bright and early, to question the team."

Danny simply nodded mutely, and, as if on automatic pilot, stood, squared his shoulders, saluted, and walked off, seemingly forgetting Lindsay was even there. But he waited for her when he got to the car—he wasn't that far gone—and drove to the nearest motel without a word.

He had been there before, this grungy dump a mile from the base. He dimly remembered some hazy nights, after too much alcohol and too little emotion led him here with some ditzy blonde waiting around The Raven, the known military bar, for a man like him to pick her up and show her a good time. He knew they only wanted to be able to brag to their friends that they'd slept with a guy who was dangerous and deadly and had that steely glint in his eye that could only mean that he'd killed. They used him, and he used them. He had always told himself that it was better that way. No guilt, no strings, no problem.

But it still felt strange bringing Lindsay here, years later.

She wasn't some corps whore waiting outside the gates for a drink and an emotionless night of sex. She was different. She was special. He loved her, and she deserved better than a place like this. But he knew her; she wouldn't complain. She would make the best of it, in that country-girl way of hers. She would sit down, smile, and hold out her hand. She'd snuggle into his arms, sigh that cute little sigh of hers, and ask him if he was all right.

He didn't deserve it. But he'd be damned if he was going to give it up.

Lindsay entered the room and looked around. The place was slightly dingy, but serviceable. It wasn't like some of those fabulous hotels in New York with a price tag higher than her pay cheque, but she had only seen those when a crime had been committed in one, so it was just as well.

The two CSIs sat on the bed, close to each other. Danny was stiff and still as stone, but Lindsay curled into him anyway, offering strength and comfort. If there was one thing that she had learned in the last few days, it was that Danny would talk to her when he was ready. Sure she could get frustrated, sick of waiting, sick of wondering, _damn_ sick of worrying, but he told her what was bothering him once he'd had a while to think about it, to stew, to turn it over in his mind before asking for another opinion or simply getting it off his chest.

Danny was first to break the silence. His voice was slightly husky from the strong emotions he was desperately trying to hold back. "I knew it," he said, frustrated, his head in his hands. "I knew that the whole thing was a message to me. I just didn't know why…"

Lindsay slipped her arm around his waist, her hand lazily drawing comforting circles on his back. "You don't know that," she soothed. "It's probably just a coincidence."

"It's not a coincidence," said Danny bitterly. "I wish to God it was, but it's not."

Lindsay remained silent, allowing him to elaborate while providing a comforting presence. Danny was hesitant to speak, but after a few moments, his voice, low with sadness and regret and all kinds of emotions Lindsay couldn't name, pieced the calm of the room.

**A/N: Another week, another chapter. Another flashback, come to that. So we see a little bit about Afghanistan, and another bout of Danny angst. I know you all are probably thinking, "Sheesh, get over it, Danny! It was five years ago!" But Danny's a pretty scarred individual. He's got demons to contend with, and he's not going to get over that like nothing happened. **

**Next chapter: we finally learn what happened in Afghanistan. And more importantly, why Danny left his job in the military and moved back to New York.**

**By the way, a few of you have said over the course of this story that I'm slow to update. I'm sorry—I know I don't update everyday like some of you, (I'm in awe of you, by the way) but I just don't have enough time to do that, nor to I have enough chapters written to keep up the pace. I feel terrible about making you wait—I'm a people pleaser, after all—but I think that consistency is important while updating, which is why I post one new chapter every Sunday. (That way, you know that if you look for an alert on those evil Monday mornings, the new chapter will be waiting for you!) I know it's frustrating to have to wait, especially when I have a penchant for leaving you with "Oh shit!" moments as one reviewer said, and I really appreciate how patient you all have been sticking with me—and the story. You guys are completely awesome, and your encouraging reviews totally make my day. Thanks so much guys!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

"I was a liar," said Danny bitterly, sitting on the motel room's lumpy bed.

Lindsay was surprised that Danny started in this way, but let him speak, silently offering him strength.

"The job…it teaches you to lie," he said. "You get deployed to South America, you pretend to be a yacht salesman. In Iraq, you're a civilian contractor. In Eastern Europe you're a body guard. Even when you're on loan to another base as a consultant or an instructor, you've got a different name, different rank, different story." He turned to look at her, taking her hand as if he would never let it go.

"I guess I don't have to tell you that this relationship thing…it's hard for me. I'm not used to comin' home and bein' able to talk about my day. When I was in the service…well, after a while, every girl gets sick of the 'I can't tell you' excuse." He gave a humourless chuckle. "So you lie, and you lie to cover that lie, and then every other lie becomes a burden in its own way, until your whole life is a lie and the only truth you can find is in firin' your weapon and havin' meaningless sex with some anonymous woman you picked up at a bar.

"Pretty soon I stopped botherin' with the relationships and skipped straight to the no-strings sex. I know the theories—sex affirms life and all that bullshit—but I think in some ways it was my way of rebellin' in an environment where rebellion means death. If I didn't have to lie, then I was ignorin' that part of myself that they created.

"Because even then I wanted out. The first couple of times…I was excited to be deployed. Action, adventure, danger, that adrenaline rush…I craved that. Here I was, a kid from Staten Island, never seen anything but the city and the base, never even been on vacation outside New York State…Then boom, I'm off to Africa, Europe, the Middle East, jumpin' out of planes from 35,000 feet. It's humbling to think that in the first year I served in the unit, I saw more of the world than most people see in a lifetime. And for the first time since I blew my baseball career, I was good at somethin'. Really good. You have to be, to do what I did.

"And that's not ego talking, though I'm sure you'll disagree. But talk to anyone in the unit and they'll stay the same. Either you're the best, or you're out. Simple as that. But after awhile, the novelty wears off. It's harder to get that rush, and when you do, it's not as big as it used to be. The excitement starts to fall off until the dangerous becomes almost…banal.

"Some guys never go through that change. Others do, but try to counter it by taking bigger risks. Guys like me…we do our jobs. Not spectacularly, just well enough to accomplish our objectives and move on. That's no way to live, and I knew that. I never had it in me to be a lifer like Uncle Moe or any of those guys. I knew that from the get go.

"I guess I was just sick of lyin'. To friends, to women." He paused and said quietly. "To my family. Until I just couldn't do it anymore." He took a deep breath.

"When we stole those chemicals in Afghanistan, I was starting to get disillusioned with the whole damn thing." He sighed. "I didn't wanna be there anymore, and the guys knew it. Made 'em jumpy, they said, 'cause they couldn't be completely sure my head was in the game, that I had their backs. I told them that I was fine, I'd finish my tour, and that was it. Not to worry."

He stood up suddenly, as if he couldn't stay still for another second. He began to pace, rubbing his eyes and reliving some much-remembered pain.

"The operation was a mess. We got there without a problem only to find out that our 'inside guy' had disappeared. I don't need to tell you what that means in Afghanistan. He was dead and that was it. But anyway, Top—Uncle Moe was in charge even then—Top decided that we could pull off the mission without him. We had the intel, the equipment, the manpower, the skills…So we went in.

"Turns out that was a mistake. See, our inside guy was supposed to make sure there was no one in that particular wing of the building. Shouldn't have been a problem, seein' as it was early in the mornin' and no one in their right mind would be there anyway. We thought we were fine until we began transferring the chemicals. Some woman walked into the adjoining room. She didn't see us, I don't think…I can't be sure. Anyway, Broadway Jimmy was out lookout. He saw her reaching for the panic button, he says, and shot her before she could trip the alarm."

His face took on a pained expression. "She was so young…" he said. "She wasn't even close to the panic button. Jimmy couldn't reign in his trigger finger and suddenly we had a mess on our hands. So I was a good little soldier-CSI and helped him clean it up—removed the bullet, made sure there were no shell casings…nothing left that could point to us. I shoulda been professional after that, shoulda waited till we got back to the base to confront him about it, but I was nearin' the end of my rope and I was just so pissed at the loss of human life for no reason at all. She wasn't a threat, she was just checking on a few labs before she went home.

"We found out later, that lab belonged to her father. Coldest bastard in Afghanistan, creating bio weapons to market to anyone with a beef against the west. But she didn't know that. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Anyway, guards heard the shot and came runnin'. Everybody was distracted because I was yellin' at Jimmy, so we were kinda caught by surprise. We got out, but Uncle Moe was shot up pretty bad, and Jimmy got one in the thigh. The only reason we got out at all was because I fired a round of flechettes—that I wasn't supposed to have—at our attackers. Hit the girl, too. When we saw the whole thing on the news, they said everyone's death was caused by 'em. Even her. Her father was on all the middle eastern news stations, spewin' threats, vowin' justice…It was a tough time for me, seein' that.

"Jimmy blamed me, I blamed him…it tore the team apart. We weren't the same after that, not as smooth, not as effective. So I paid my dues, finished my tour, and decided not to re-up. Moved back to New York and got an interview with Mac through some guy he served with and the rest is history."

Lindsay was silent for a moment, letting it all sink in. "It wasn't your fault, you know. That the girl died."

"Oh yeah?" asked Danny, bitterness creeping into his voice. "Tell that to her father."

**A/N: Woosh. That's a lot of talking for our favourite Staten Islander. But at least he's got it off his chest now, right?**

**Anyway, I've noticed a very distressing trend over the last few chapters. It seems that people have stopped reading! Up until about Chapter 14, I've been averaging about 1000 hits per chapter. Now, Chapters 15-19 have basically dropped off by half. 50 percent fewer hits! A travesty!**

**Please, let me know why!!! I'm trying to keep this story going, but it's a little discouraging to see those kind of numbers.**

**On the positive side, however, I would like to take this opportunity to thank each and every one of my reviewers, especially those who take the time to review every single chapter. You guys are the reason I've continued writing and your opinion really does matter to me.**

**So if any of you (even those readers who have added this story to their alerts but are too shy or busy to comment) can help alleviate the panic, leave a review or PM me! I'm stressed enough as it is!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Lindsay was up bright and early the next morning, but she still wasn't awake before Danny. He was already dressed, his hair slightly damp from his shower, as he sat in the uncomfortable-looking wooden chair in front of the window. She must have made a sound, because Danny turned his gaze on her.

"Sleep well, Montana?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Lindsay. In truth, she hadn't really. She had slept on the plane and in the car the day before, and both she and Danny had turned in early after his draining monologue. They both sought refuge in dreams and did not find it.

She climbed out of bed and made her way toward the bathroom. "I'm just going to take a shower," she said. "I'll be out in fifteen minutes."

She took ten. She saw no reason to linger under the spray. It left her too much time to think, and she'd done enough of that the last few days.

They stopped to eat breakfast before returning to the base. The same guard, Rudy, was on duty, but he showed no sign of recognizing them. Danny did not joke with him today. He simply handed over their IDs and waited until they were told to pass. He parked the car in the same spot as the day before, but instead of leading her into what appeared to be the main building, he took her around to the back. "This time of day, they'll be at the shooting house," Danny said, and led her to a small outbuilding quite a distance from the main building. "Now we wait."

It was almost nine o'clock, and Danny assured her that, sure as clockwork, his former team would be exiting the shooting house and passing their outbuilding in a matter of minutes.

He was right.

Four men dressed in combat uniforms and carrying automatic weapons approached. They were all of average height and looked very fit. None of them were especially tall and muscular, which Lindsay found odd, considering what they did for a living.

Danny stepped out of the outbuilding and leaned against the wall, waiting for the team to reach him.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Danny Downtown," said one of the men. He looked to be about 35, with messy blonde hair, green eyes and a wide smile. His skin was very tanned, almost leathery, and Lindsay noticed the beginnings of crows-feet fanning out from his eyes. His job was not an easy one, no matter what his grin said.

"Surfer Dave, good to see ya," said Danny, but the other man had already looked beyond him and caught sight of Lindsay. "And who's this?" he asked, his voice conveying his charm, but his eyes betraying his suspicion.

"Detective Lindsay Monroe," said Lindsay, stepping forward and offering her hand. Dave shook it, bemused. "Miss Monroe, welcome to our humble abode. It's not often that we have such beautiful guests."

She smiled, charmed despite herself.

Danny stepped closer and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Hands off, this one's mine, Casanova," he said with a grin. "Get your own cowgirl."

"A cowgirl?" asked a taller, brown-haired man with a noticeably southern accent. "Were the hell did you find yourself one of those?" He smiled and Lindsay tipped his helmet as if it were a cowboy hat, revealing a thatch of thick, curly hair. "I'm Jack. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise," said Lindsay.

He grinned. "When you get bored with Messer, here, you come find me. I'm a lot more fun that this stick in the mud."

Lindsay smiled noncommittally. "How in the world could Danny be considered a stick in the mud?" she thought wryly.

"This here's Jason," said Jack, pointing a thumb behind him toward a younger looking black man with kind brown eyes. "Your replacement," he added with a wolfish grin.

"Nice to meetcha," said Danny, his smile genuine. He paused awkwardly before turning to the older man with red hair and steely eyes who had remained silent during the exchange. "Uncle Moe," he said nervously.

The other man simply nodded sharply and turned to leave. "Hey Top, what's up?" asked Jason.

The man didn't even pause. He just kept walking.

"It's okay, man. Let him go," said Danny. "He doesn't wanna talk to me."

"I've never seen him like that—"

"Long story," said Dave. "Before your time." He turned to Danny with a grin. "Come 'ere you lousy quitter," he said, pulling the other man into a bone-crushing man hug.

Danny pushed the other man off of him with a laugh. "Dude, you smell like DAN."

Jack leaned over to tell Lindsay, "That's dick, ass and nuts for the uninitiated."

Surfer Dave was having none of it. "This coming from a guy named DANny," he said before cracking up. "That one never gets old."

"Trust me, it does," said Danny with a long-suffering look. But his humour was replaced in moments by seriousness. He gave Lindsay a meaningful glance, indicating that she should start asking questions.

So she started apologetically, "Sorry guys, but unfortunately we're not here to socialize. We're investigating a murder."

There were a number of raised eyebrows before Jack asked, "Whose?"

Lindsay paused, wondering how to break it to them that their friend and brother-in-arms was lying dead in the morgue at the New York City crime lab.

Danny answered for her. "Jim's."

There was none of the incredulity that Lindsay expected. Calm acceptance all around—they knew the score. They didn't have to tell her the rate of turnover in the unit for her to know that not many of these men lived long enough to retire.

"When and how," asked Jason soberly.

"New York," said Danny. "We found the bodies in Central Park. Not sure where they were killed."

"They?" asked Dave.

"His niece was also killed."

"Damn," he cursed.

"They were injected with a mutagen before being hit with a round filled with flechettes. I think you'll be able to fill in the blanks now," said Danny grimly.

"Afghanistan?"

"Yeah."

"Shit."

Danny pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. "Any idea what he was doin' in New York?"

"Nope. But you knew that already," said Dave.

"I know, but I'm a cop now. I'm out of the off-the-record world. I gotta be accountable."

All of the unit members made a face. "Wow, that would suck!" said Jason.

"So you guys don't even know why he was there?" asked Lindsay.

"We were lucky we even knew he'd left," said Jack. "All I know is, he had one helluva fight with his wife and had to stay with me for a few days. Next thing I know, he's gone."

**A/N: Wow. I just want to thank you all for reading! And those of you who review are pretty damn awesome too! I can't believe that this story has received more than two hundred reviews! You all rock.**

**Hits are still down, but that's okay. I'm too busy to worry about that anymore. In fact, consider this notice: I know you all hate waiting for updates, and so far I have committed to posting a new chapter every week. Unfortunately, I think I'm going to have to miss a few weeks until I amass enough time (and chapters) to post again. I am so very sorry for this, and I hate to do it, but you all know how it is to be swamped. Thank you for your patience! Until next time.**


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